Pitch
by Borath
Summary: Amidst the Autobots, Starscream finds himself wanting to repent for his past misdeeds and have a family, but the road to hell is pathed with good intentions. Mpreg. Starscream/Ratchet; Optimus/Ironhide. Cont. from 'Family Matters' but can stand alone.
1. Chapter 1

_The direct sequel to _Family Matters_ and following on from _Equilibrium _and _Provenance_, this is a continuation of this series but with a bit of a change. I hope you enjoy it. Again, I'll try to write this in such a way as it can be read on its own, but it'd be lovely if you'd look over the preceeding stories if you haven't already._

* * *

Pitch

_Chapter One_

It had surprised the humans to discover that the humanoid machines did not sleep quietly. Even in their deepest states of recharge, the Autobots didn't fall silent and unmoving with dormant systems as expected. Celebrating Forge's birth, there had been a party that had made the one three months ago seem like a simple gathering, and a lot of bots had ended up slipping into recharge outside amongst the soldiers. For many of the humans, it had been the first time they'd seen the Autobots 'sleeping'.

They fidgeted, minutely and slowly, to ease weight off of parts bearing too much weight for too long or in response to the activity of their processors. Optics remained shuttered or dark, not necessarily both, but the tiny plates twitched not unlike the human's REM state.

They 'breathed' too, through their primary vents as well as the micro-vents littering their bodies beneath armour and joints, and this was their most telling unconscious behaviour. Slumber was a soft note caught between a drone and the rumble of tyres on asphalt, periodically hitched with clicks and shunts. On the rare occasions when they were in flux, whether with dreams or nightmares, the temperature of the air sighed out from their vents had the potential to rise exponentially, be it in pleasure or agitation.

Not programmed as a soldier like the vast majority of those at the Base, Tempest fluxed almost nightly though rarely unpleasantly. His spark, formed from Prime and the leader of the Decepticon faction, had a strong sense of self-security woven into it, though his conscious confidence was yet to match it. Tempest's dreams were of wind rippling across his wings, of taking his new half-brother out into the world and showing him its life, of dizzying acrobatics alongside his guardian, all of which left his vents warm and singing quietly. The gentle note chorused against the deeper, hollow drone of the other two Seekers who still recharged in their large shared quarters. Starscream, who now spent his nights with Ratchet, did not often hum such a peaceful note.

The scarred Seeker sat hunched on the edge of the shared berth, an elbow on his knee and hand covering his optics. His chassis felt thick and sore, full of steady and unending activity as materials from his body were harvested and reprocessed. Though the pain and discomfort was fitting, he felt: an insubstantial price to pay for new life. And perhaps penance, the small part of his processor that had defected to Ratchet's opinions added.

Starscream glanced behind him at that, regarding the other mech who'd already slipped into deep recharge. The coming sparkling had been a part of their lives for only a week but already they were both invested, though they hadn't told anyone. After much thought and spark-searching, he'd decided that it was something he wished to do but in his own way. He didn't want attention or special treatment, and amidst the Autobots that necessitated simply not telling anyone. Ratchet was respecting that wish and keeping a close-optic in the existing private sphere of their personal life, which was also the only place he'd let the drain show. Though he'd been spared nausea so far, the weariness was proto-form deep and regardless of the nightmares. The decision to lay down to much-needed recharge himself was a wary one.

Before long, the Seeker slept and fluxed out of something beyond a deep malfunction in his processor as he lay flat alongside the curled medic. For centuries it kept him awake most nights, left him needing distractions at all hours, and made his moods fragile during particularly trying spells of insomnia and fluxes. The air from his vents heated the surrounding metal to temperatures in accordance with battle-readiness, hot waves synchronised with the twitches in his wing plates and fingers. It wasn't enough to wake Ratchet in itself, but it had long been enough to concern the medic to observe should he not be the first to slip into recharge or arise first.

Unconsciously, the medic shifted to brush a hand down Starscream's hand as they both recharged, responding to a particularly sharp twitch through the Seeker's long body. The touch worked to soothe momentarily, to remind his systems of the world outside of his processor where all was dark and still and not to be concerned about. The flux didn't let him go, though, seizing upon the data most frequently treaded in the small hours. Starscream's vents gave a shaky exhale, systems knowing what was coming, and his hand dumbly touched upon Ratchet's in the dark.

* * *

The largest nursery on Cybertron was full of cries before we broke inside. The explosion required to get past the perimeter woke the majority of them, though Soundwave had made it appear that they were crying over nothing. No distress signal, no summons for emergency services left the compound though we'd waited at the doorway, watchful, just in case. With an acknowledging grunt to Soundwave, Megatron had cast his optics over us before pushing through the doorway and leading our party inside.

He hadn't disclosed what we were doing, but the size of our assembled group indicated that it would be something atypical, and possibly exceptional. Too big for a raiding party and too small for a full attack, he'd also chosen based on rank. It was too early to know that this was more than an exercise to embolden us. Only in retrospect could I diagnose that this was a means to desensitise us, harden us, and to test us, though a sign of it had appeared when we learned that we were to attack a relatively new nursery.

It had been over a century since I'd last seen a youngling, let alone a sparkling, and their shrieks had crawled across my audios as we'd stepped inside. The war between the Decepticons and the Autobots had reached a point where it was no longer safe to have them the hard way – the soft-sparked way reliant on time and energy. Sparkling cases were simply offered to the All Spark for life, and raised here until their processors had developed enough for an older frame. I could see them in cots through the windows on either side of me.

"Starscream." Megatron had stopped a few paces behind me, the rest of the Decepticons brought for the occasion flanking him. "The newsparks, and don't waste ammunition."

I'd given a nod to acknowledge the instruction before I moved to the other side of the compound. It was another test of my willingness for cruelty, another reaffirming of my reputation as his terror in the sky for those who would oppose him. He'd always given me the most heinous tasks, and then on occasion told me to do it with my bare hands. Whilst he led the Decepticons to kill the majority of the sparklings whom were old enough to run, I'd moved to strike upon the ones whom were only days old.

The nursery carers were not built for combat, programmed to respond quickly and chaotically to terror. I went through them systematically, crumpled their spark casings and then left the remains in their chassis, clearing the area before I turned my attention to the sparklings. Inside covered cots with spinning mobiles, lined in neat, clean rows, the newsparks had squirmed and chirped oblivious to me.

By the shared light of our optics I'd moved in on the first cot. The latches opened easily to my touch and the mechling inside squawked at me. I'd placed my hand over his chassis, his thin neck inside the curve of my thumb, and the heat from his spark had felt unnaturally warm to my palm. His optics had met mine as I clenched my fist in quick spasm, too fast for him to cry out. The remaining newsparks had chirped and squirmed unaware of what had happened, and what was going to happen.

Megatron had wanted us to gather the bodies in the central hall to make as macabre a scene as possible for the Autobots to find. I could hear the Decepticons herding adults and sparklings alike down the corridors, severing and obliterating limbs that raised against them on the retreat. Secluded in my room of infants, I decided to kill them all first and gather up the scraps to take out afterwards.

* * *

Starscream snapped awake in as much that his optics opened and his vents jerked, his body otherwise still. It was enough to rouse Ratchet, though, who shifted to sit up next to the Seeker on the berth. Dim red optics flickered to his before shuttering with a sigh, clawed fingers coming up to press the gap between. "Don't start."

The medic raised a brow, his face a picture of arch concern. He knew perfectly well that Starscream was not a bot who needed coddling, but there were extremes of suffering where he still felt the Seeker was due some support. Nightmares in themselves were harmless – often caused by bad code or microscopic corrosion. They were the result of a processor unable to full disengage into recharge, trapped into circling painful and poignant moments. Looking down at the stoically reclined Seeker, Ratchet spoke very mindful of his tone. "If you'd just talk about it-"

He rolled his optics with a bright flash, irritation ringing out clear. "Frag's sake, Ratch', everyone gets nightmares."

Ratchet cocked his head, the plates about his optics shifting together fractionally. "Not everyone was a Decepticon."

Shifting wing plates warned of mounting agitation, laying mechanical credence to the saying of ruffling ones feathers. Starscream snapped his gaze away to some unspecified point on the ceiling, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Skywarp and Thundercracker were. Go spoon them."

Ordinarily he'd have rolled his optics at the dripping sarcasm, but that now-familiar shadow in the Seeker's red glow gave Ratchet pause. Though it hadn't surprised him that Starscream had nightmares, their intensity and frequency had left him concerned. He'd never known a bot like it, but then he'd never spent so much time with a Decepticon defector being assailed by guilt before, let alone with a just-about-admitted-to-it-partner one. Not to mention that the Seeker needed rest now more than ever, and would continue to do so for the next seven weeks.

"They're not carrying," he reminded softly, mindful of the amount of pride he was dealing with, "If you'd let me, I could run a close scan of your processor and see what adjustments I can make."

"Like I hadn't already done that," Starscream snapped, sitting up and swinging his legs off the edge of the berth, his back to the other mech. Long silence dragged between them, thick but in the presence of masters at waiting others out. It made no difference, thus one of them had to make the conscious decision to bow. Tired, feeling vaguely sick and still actively trying to naturalise himself to Ratchet's non-professional care, Starscream flickered a glance to the waiting medic and sighed. His voice, though still irritated and defensive, was tempered with resignation. "It's not as easy as a fluxing chip. It's in my spark."

Brows raised in surprise, Ratchet couldn't help but grimace. Truly then this was not a problem that could be easily solved, or even repressed. "I'm sorry." Starscream remained still and silent, giving no sign he'd heard the utterance. Ratchet ran a hand across a thick wing, relieved when the Seeker didn't jerk, and offered a compassionate smile. "Are you going to go kill a few hours in the rec room? Take your processor off it?"

Considering that for a moment, Starscream ultimately shook his head and shifted to lie back on the berth, hooking one ankle across the other. "No. Tempest's training with Ironhide and Prime's mired in bureaucracy today, so I'm sparkling-sitting. Any recharge is still recharge, and Forge can be a handful."

"If you're sure," Ratchet murmured, hesitating a moment before shifting back down onto his side. Starscream tracked his movements peripherally before his vents sighed an exhale and his optics shuttered. The smaller mech watched him for a few more seconds, noting the heated systems with twinge of worry, before laying a hand over the curved chassis and dimming his own optics. The warm vibration of activity beneath his fingers, the presence of their infant spark, soon led him into uneasy recharge.

* * *

"Ba!"

Optics remaining shuttered though he was still far from recharge, Optimus felt out an appropriate spare energon line from beneath his chassis and offered the extended end out to the sparkling nestled in the space between their bodies. Forge seized the thin tube in both hands and clamped onto the end though didn't try to draw energon out. Instead, he began to alternatively chirp and bite down hard on the tip in a random pattern. Optimus drew it back with a soft, admonishing rumble.

"That's for energon, not for chewing," he murmured, optics opening to slits to regard the wide-awake sparkling. The mech couldn't help but sigh. "You're not at all tired, are you?"

Forge beamed. "Ba!" Clumsily sitting up, the sparkling swung a black hand towards his Sire before toppling back to lie against Ironhide's chassis, chirping a giggle.

Ironhide shifted a little, one hand sliding up to cup the sparkling who immediately began to mouth his fingers amidst warbling sounds. The glow of the broad mech's optics joined the other points of azure light in the room, his vents grumbling as his systems awoke. "I'll take 'im around for a bit. See if he drops off."

A whine from the big engine signalled that Optimus was already moving, sitting with a hand rubbing his optics. He made an effort to make his voice sound more relaxed than he felt. "It's alright, I was awake anyway."

Before the tall mech could lift him up, Forge found himself cuddled close into Ironhide's dark chassis. His optics narrowed fractionally with scrutiny, fixed on his sparkmate. "Uh huh. All the more reason why you should stay here and get some recharge whilst I walk around with the little'un. You've been more or less awake for, what? Three days now?"

Optimus tilted his hand from going to lift Forge away from the mech's chassis to cup his face, running his thumb down a rounded metal cheek. "I'm fine, 'Hide. These meetings are just occupying my processor."

A rattled sigh as Ironhide shifted onto his back, the sparkling chirping a laugh as he was spun up to sit on the mech's stomach. "Can't believe you agreed to those, or that they even asked you so soon after having him. Primus, it's barely been a month. Don't they get that having a sparkling is hard, or do they just not care?"

Unseen in the dim light, Optimus's mouth quirked in a grimace. The meetings were above NEST, with names that he didn't recognise being thrown around. Most disconcerting was that he couldn't find any information on some of them. "I fear that it's the sparklings that they want to talk about."

Something stirred in the dark mech's engine that conveyed what he was feeling to his sparkmate better than any verbal response: a low, tight sound of unease and protective aggression. Unconsciously his fingers tightened around Forge. "Why in the Pit would they want to know about sparklings?"

Optics shuttered in a long 'blink' as he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not sure, but they asked if it was possible for me to bring one of them. It seems a bit more than innocent curiosity. Perhaps it's as simple as their unease with us actively building a populous on their planet. I don't know." His gaze returned to Ironhide's, resolved and frank. "Whatever it is, I'm not taking Forge or Tempest."

"Fragging right, you're not," Ironhide grumbled, shifting to sit up now that he was awake. Forge began to clamber in his lap, and he passed the sparkling across to the mech he was reaching for, mercifully breaking the atmosphere. "Look, I'll ask Pest or Screamer about taking Forge for tonight. It might help you get some rest, and Primus knows Screamer'll take good care of him."

Despite himself Optimus smiled a little. His spark weighed heavy, and very little of it was about these upcoming meetings, much less anything he'd told Ironhide. Just the thought of sharing what was truly troubling him made his circuits ache. Ultimately he shook his head, forcing a thin smile. "Sparklings do seem to take an easy liking to him."

"It's downright weird," Ironhide rumbled, running blunt fingers across his son's stomach with a warm smile. "If we went back out into space and managed to find the most vicious, savage and violent species this universe had to offer, their kids would probably still like that damn Seeker."

A chuckle of agreement as Optimus attempted to settle Forge against him, the sparkling apparently far more interested in grabbing at the seams of his armour and giving experimental tugs. Ironhide nodded to him with a frown, his tone softly urging. "Let me take him. He's wide awake and you're tired." A half shrug. "Besides, you birthed him. Not fair for you to keep taking the strain."

"As thoughtful as that is," Optimus began, leaning forwards to lay a soft, appreciative kiss, "I wouldn't mind a walk either. Perhaps it'll help both of us to sleep. Get some recharge – you'll need it for Tempest tomorrow."

"Ah yes, mechling's first combat lesson," Ironhide drawled, watching the tall mech slide off the berth to his feet and start towards the door. "Should be interesting."

* * *

He'd walked for an hour before relenting to himself and calling Ratchet. It had been one ping, tentative even, and he'd already decided that he wouldn't comm. again if it was ignored. Of course, the medic had answered, and of course, he'd been ready to meet him in the Medbay before he'd finished apologising for getting him up at such an hour. Once there, though, Optimus had resolved to curbing his anxieties for good.

"There has to be something, Ratchet. Please, look again."

The medic shifted with narrowed optics, uneasy and disturbed by this turn of events. Prime's energy field had caught his attention with its bitter greyness before he'd come through the doors of the Medbay carrying his newest sparkling, and an hour later everything about his frame was still tense and troubled.

Resettling the month-old sparkling against his hip, mindlessly offering a miniature electronic screwdriver to Forge's hands to quiet his chirps, Ratchet shook his head helplessly at the seated mech. "I've run two close scans of your systems, Optimus, and aside from a need to be recharging instead of here talking to me I can't find anything wrong." When the blue optics shuttered and a hand moved to press the space between them, he cocked his head and broached, "If you told me what it is you're so concerned about, I might be able to find and diagnose it."

Powerful vents rattled with a sigh that was almost successfully repressed and Optimus shook his head, gaze finally rising to meet the other mech's. "I can't. It's bad enough that I'm even here and got you up for this."

Mouth quirking in a grimace, Ratchet considered the sparkling attempting to eat the screwdriver and moved to sit next to the other mech on the berth, ignoring his apparent surprise. "Optimus," he began softly, watching how the mech's eyes slid to the sparkling though his hands remained still in his lap. "You've just had a sparkling, seem to have barely been recharging, the humans are harassing you to make the Autobots worth the financial drain they claim we are, and the Decepticons have gone from quiet to silent which means they're probably up to something. You're tired, anxious and a parent to a newspark all over again."

A shunt of air and the tall mech smiled a little, though it was humourless. "I don't have some kind of postnatal depression, Ratchet. There's just something wrong."

Ratchet repressed the urge to roll his optics, stroking his thumb down Forge's back. "Why do you think there's something wrong with you?" he asked evenly, praying for patience at this hour. With Starscream fluxing he was loathe to leave the Seeker for too long should he online and find himself alone in the vestigial grips of a nightmare, and though Starscream in no way needed protection at this stage, the instinct to be a vigilant guardian to the carrying mech was circuit-deep.

It seemed a considered effort for Optimus to meet his optics, and his expression was solemn. "There has to be something wrong with me, otherwise there's something wrong with him." The blue lights darkened as they regarded the sparkling, the small plates around them tightening. "And he's perfect."

At the tone Ratchet felt an echoing ache in his spark at the weight apparent in Prime's. Nodding slightly, he adjusted Forge to face him and rested his splayed hand across the small chassis with shuttered optics. The benefit of the sparkling's small size was that a full, close scan could be completed within seconds from one contact point, and he diligently combed through every system detail and spark pulse for any kind of abnormality. Finding none, he opened his optics and looked to the anxious parent again. "He's fine. Just like you said: perfect." His tone hardened, wielding the weight of a medic whose concern had now been truly roused. "What is it that you feel, Prime?"

Pinned by stare and tone, Optimus only hesitated a moment before finally speaking in rolling baritone. "It is rather what I don't feel," he replied in a voice thick with shame. "I have not felt the pull towards him that I do with Tempest. In my spark I know that I love him, but there's something missing."

Ratchet nodded slightly, more in acknowledgement of the response than understanding of it. The admission was clearly one that pained the mech to make, and that made the fact that he had no answers to offer potently troubling. "Does Ironhide know about this?" he asked as a kind of stall whilst his processor whirred, combing through every known difficulty experienced with new sparklings.

As expected, Optimus shook his head. "No, I would not trouble him with this, and he has not spoken of a similar… difficulty. I've managed not to let my feelings filter across our bond, where they would only serve to upset him."

Holding out the sparkling, Ratchet watched as the mech took him against his chassis with scrutinizing scanners. Everything registered as entirely normal – synchronising spark pulses, readiness in the auxiliary energon lines should Forge want to eat, and a natural soothing warmth in surface plates. A model Sire, and yet there was mingled fear and shame in the bright optics lurking at the edges of unconditional love. Though every sparkling was different, it wouldn't explain what was apparently happening here.

Ratchet ran a finger thoughtfully against his neck. "You say that it's the 'pull' you felt for Tempest that is missing?" A nod, and he made a thoughtful sound. "Does that pull still exist now, or did it go when he adopted the adult frame?"

"I still feel it," Optimus replied softly, a large hand coming to cup the sparkling's back as his thumb was hugged. "I assumed it was part of having a sparkling."

"Perhaps," Ratchet murmured, metal _schlucht_ing as his finger continued contemplative lines down his throat. A thought occurred and he activated his comm., though made the communication aloud for his patient's sake. "Tempest, I need you in the Medbay." Optimus straightened to protest but he held up a hand, activating his speakers.

Tempest's voice when it came was wide-awake and thick with worry. _I'll be right there. Is everything okay?_

"I'm just confirming that. Ratchet, out." Estimating the Harrier transformer to be a few minutes away, Ratchet slid off the berth and ran a hand across his face. "I suspect this is linked to Tempest's parentage," he began slowly, aware that he was treading on potentially volatile ground. Already the other's lines had tensed, optics hardening as he went on. "His conception was as violent as his birth, and seeded by a powerful creator whom you had no affection for. Forge has come into being from the complete opposite of circumstance, and this discrepancy in feeling you're experiencing may simply be your spark's acknowledgement of that."

"My son is not tainted," Optimus replied flatly, his voice edged with warning.

Ratchet held up his hands, repressing a grimace. "I didn't say that, nor did I mean to imply as such, but it can't be denied that they are wholly different sparklings. Forge has been born from a sparkbond, and Tempest came from Megatron's attempt to make a weapon to use against you."

Optimus had stood without thought, his presence seeming to fill the expansive room to its walls as his stare bore down on the medic. It had taken months for him to convince Tempest that he did not bear evil within him because of where he came from, and that he would be no less loved than Forge. To hear Ratchet speaking like this sent a very cold lance through his spark, and not all of it was anger.

Before he could retaliate, though, the Medbay doors hissed open to admit the youngest Seeker. Tempest stalled a few steps inside, optics widening at his Sire's aggressive display and Ratchet's stoicism as he held his ground. "Uh, what's going on? _Sire_? Is Forge okay?"

The medic looked between the pair, optics brightening as he brought his scanners to the fore. He looked up to the taller mech before taking the sparkling back, resting the small body atop his hip and against his chassis. "Go to him, Prime."

Optics narrowing fractionally for a split second, Optimus broke the stare and crossed the room to where Tempest was lingering anxiously. Resting a hand on a broad shoulder, he sighed at the gentle pressure in his chassis that was absent towards his newest sparkling. "I'm sorry to have concerned and brought you down here, Tempest, but I don't think there's anything you need to worry about."

"Not worry, per say," Ratchet interjected slowly, optics flickering as he moved towards the pair with a furrowed brow. He ran a closer scan this time, not trying for discretion as the thin light danced out from his chassis in a scrutinizing sweep that confirmed his theory now that he knew what he was looking for. "That pull isn't coming from you, Prime. It's coming from the Matrix."

Processor momentarily tripping over itself, Optimus initially found that he could do no more than blink at that statement. The Matrix had never displayed any activity towards matters that he'd class as personal – it never had any business to. Why it was suddenly interested concerned him, though there was a creeping knowing in the back of his processor that he knew what this was about. Aloud, he simply asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means," Ratchet began as the scanner deactivated and his optics returned to normal, leaving a vague expression of shock behind, "That the Matrix has recognized Tempest as a Prime. Or at least a future one."

A thick silence encompassed the room for long moments until Tempest took a step back, holding up both hands. "No. No, that can't be right. I'm younger than Captain Lennox's toddler, for Pit's sake."

His processor harking back to how he'd felt upon finding out that he was a Prime, Optimus approached just enough to offer a comforting proximity but not so much as to crowd and panic the young mech. "It's alright, Tempest. This doesn't change who you are."

"Just what I'm going to do," the Harrier bit back, bloody optics flashing as his body curled inwards defensively. "I can't be a Prime."

Optimus didn't need the instinctual bond to tell him that his son was spiralling into hysteria, and with good reason. He'd been a good deal older when he took on the title and its associated responsibilities from Sentinel Prime, with some life experience and confidence dulling the edge of the fear he'd felt in the face of such responsibility. The Seeker before him should still have been in his sparkling case and living with the ignorance of innocence. It wasn't safe, but it was what should have been. He couldn't imagine what the youngster was thinking and feeling right now.

Motioning towards a berth, Optimus raised a hand, his tone imploring. "Tempest, please. Sit down."

"What does this even mean?" Tempest asked with a rising pitch, the instruction unheard. He looked between both mechs with wide optics, vents warming anxiously though with an edge of blossoming anger. "Is this about bringing together the factions again? That I'm supposed to be some kind of symbol of unity?"

Suppressing a sigh, Optimus's voice was solemn and weighted. If this was truly the case, and Tempest was a Prime in the making, then he had a right to know that there would be hardship in his future - hardship that he would be doing everything in his power to spare him from, fate or no. "I do not know what your destiny is, my son, but throughout the history of our people the Primes typically are asked to make greater sacrifices than most."

This was all too much coming too fast, and Tempest felt that he couldn't grasp any of it. "Like you? Like the Primes in Egypt in that tomb?" Another step back, closer to the door. "Because I'm a Prime I'm going to die?"

The Medbay doors hissing open momentarily snapped all their attention away, watching as Starscream strode inside with darkened optics and a grim expression. He stopped a little way into the room, looking over the assembled mechs before his gaze settled on Tempest.

* * *

"What're you doing here, Scree?"

The combined energy field in this room crawls into mine, and the guardian bond is cold and prickling against my processor. If I'd managed at least half a full cycle of the recharge I'd needed it wouldn't be getting under my plates so much. I touch my helm with a grimace, refocusing against the onslaught of fear and anger and speak directly to Tempest. I want this to come uncluttered from him as it seems to be about him. "I'm your guardian. I can feel when you've so much as scraped your knee and whatever's going on now is giving me a processor ache, so fess up with it."

Tempest twists back to Prime and Ratchet, who's holding Forge to his side with a hand curved over his audios. Not a good sign. The features of my charge twist, anguished. "_Sire_ says I'm a Prime, and I'll probably die because of it."

I cock my head, taking a second to process that. Another Prime. Curiously the point doesn't surprise me as much as it ought to have – certainly nowhere near the degree to which it's affected Tempest. It had occurred to me when the plan to make Prime conceive was drawn up that a bot with Optimus as its Sire could be an empowered part of the Prime lineage, but such a mingling with so different a spark as Megatron's had made it far-fetched in my view. Apparently my first instinct had been correct, and now we must deal with the fallout of that fact being abruptly realised.

To his credit, Prime doesn't shy from the truth of that statement. "No one knows how they will return to the All Spark, but if things continue as they are then we may still expect to die in the war." Another step forward, impressively silent in a show of gentleness towards Tempest. "That may not be your sacrifice, though. You have already lost your sparklinghood, been forced by my decision to be ungraded into an adult frame far too young to protect you."

"It was the right decision, Prime," Ratchet chimes in, firm and measured. His gaze flickers to me, silently asking if I'm alright before returning to Tempest at my curt nod.

The bond isn't sensitive enough to pick out emotion, let alone thought, but the swell of freshly burning pressure in my chassis underlines the young Seeker's torn expression. "No, this isn't right. This isn't me. It can't be," Tempest utters rapidly, taking more steps away from his Sire towards the door. He looks between us all, his optics almost black. "How can a rape-spark be a Prime?"

My plates turn suddenly cold at the phrase and Prime flinches as if burned, optics darkening as Ratchet puts a hand to his arm. It's me who moves to Tempest first, grasping his shoulder and turning him to face me. I don't care how sharply my voice comes, hissing between my dentals. "Do not speak of yourself like that."

His optics flash vermillion and he twists out of my grip. "It's true though, isn't it?"

Peripherally I see Prime's hand twitch and I note how he suddenly looks cold and wearied. He steps away from Ratchet, the hand raised in an imploring gesture as much as reassuring. "Tempest, please-"

A shrill crackle that doesn't translate as the near-hysterical sparkling shows his age. Moving for the door without taking his flickering gaze off us, as if afraid we'll shoot him in the back, Tempest's voice is verging on a cry. "No, I don't want to be this. Any of this."

When Tempest disappears through the doorway, closely followed by the sounds of transformation as he gets into the yard and flies off, Prime wastes no time in following. Ratchet retakes his arm in as much a sign of support as restraint, his other hand still cradling across Forge's audios on his hip. His voice comes solemn and flat. "You know as well as I do that you won't be able to follow him."

"I'll go talk to him," I assure softly, already moving though I pause at the doorway. "Only thing that can catch a Seeker on the run is another Seeker. I'll bring him back, Prime." I make brief optic contact with Ratchet. _I'm fine to follow him, and someone needs to deal with his Sire._

Ratchet nods almost imperceptibly, glancing up at the taller mech. _You're right. Be safe._

Prime is unaware of our silent exchange, his optics dark and focus turned inwards. "Thank you. Keep me informed."

I give him a curt nod before stepping out after Tempest, the first stages of transformation already running. Outside, I complete the change on the move and take to the brightening sky.

* * *

Tempest didn't bolt as far as I'd expected, heading in the direction of the cavern we'd taken shelter in after running from Blackout but landing hundreds of miles short. The costal field where the dead femmes struck ground hasn't changed at all in the weeks since we were here. The swarming populous of this planet have a habit of packing themselves into certain confined spaces and leaving entire expanses of land entirely ignored. Their stupidity will be to our favour, though, when Prime begins negotiations for us to establish a colony here and get out of the hangers and warehouses.

My errant charge is sitting at the edge of Elita's landing crater, dangling his legs over the blackened earth turned slick with rain. Water runs off his lowered helm in thick ropes and drips into his lap, his chin resting in his hands. His optics are dark and brooding, not looking to acknowledge me as I sit beside him. It's only when I hold out a pair of rust sticks that he looks up at me with a cracked smile.

"Thanks Scree."

He takes one and I, mindlessly, begin eating the other, feeling as though some unconscious itch has been scratched. So it begins, apparently.

It only takes a few minutes of raindrop-broken silence for him to sit back with a sigh. His mouth pulls into a grimace. "Is _Sire_ mad at me?"

"You upset him, but he's not angry," I reply evenly, offering out another ruststick from the compartment in my arm as a kind of reward for speaking. It also gives me an excuse to eat another, I'm sickened to note. I'm beginning to understand why Prime and Luna were so damn happy when I started making these. Now that Jolt is our resident rust-stick factory, I'll have to find a way to put in an order without rousing anyone's suspicion.

Tempest chews the sweet carbon rod quietly, staring into the deepening puddle in the crater. "I got scared," he murmurs, brows pulling together tightly in guilt.

"It's alright to be afraid sometimes." I brush a hand across his wing, drawing his attention back to me. "But running when you're scared makes you believe that it truly need running from, which only makes it harder to confront when you finally stop." He nods a little though still looks sceptical and anxious. This would be when someone else would embrace him, but that's not in my circuits. I half-shrug instead. "Your Sire would have sat with you and talked through everything you wanted, no matter how irrational your feelings."

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, something I believe he's picked up from Ironhide. "It just felt too huge," he begins slowly, his gaze sliding back downwards to the wet crater. "I mean, me as a Prime? I'm not up to that."

I can't help a smirked smile. "How'd you think he felt?"

His lines twitch with surprise and he looks at me with cautious surprise. "Really?" I nod a little and he smiles, posture relaxing though he's clearly still troubled.

I touch my helm again, rubbing my fingers in slow circles as if it might ease off the processor ache that's bloomed from being this overclocked and wound up. I won't be able to recharge until I've confronted Tempest on the ugliest point he made, though. Mindful not to cloud my tone with emotion, I speak softly to his profile. "Where did you hear that phrase?"

The young Seeker doesn't look at me, asking quietly, "What phrase?"

He won't hear me say it and I let some of my irritation filter through. "You know what I mean."

A short shrug, depressed and resigned as the silence drags out. Finally he rubs his neck again as he murmurs, "I overheard Wheelie talking to Skywarp about me."

My vents rumble as I straighten, the nul ray in my arm warming as my hands tighten into fists. "Someone's going to get slagged."

Tempest snorts a bitter laugh. "Actually 'Warp got pretty angry with him already. Drop-kicked the little guy into the wall."

I look up the term and nod with thick satisfaction, though it won't stop me from having a 'word' myself. "Good. I'd have expected nothing less." He fidgets and I touch his wing again, though this time maintain the contact as he meets my gaze. "I don't want to hear you call yourself anything like that again, understand?"

His mouth quirks downwards, optics dark. "It's true though."

"Not from how your Sire sees things," I tell him, my grip firming on his wing. "It was unusual circumstance, yes, but you were wanted, not imposed. He fought to keep you, have you and raise you, and he'll fight for you until the day he cannot any longer." Now it's my turn to shift a little, though Tempest likely won't read any more into it than comfort. I'm not good at this, but for him I'll try. "Measure yourself against the love and devotion he shows you, not the rumours and insinuations of your conception. It matters only as much as you and Prime think on it, and as far as I know, he doesn't. He sees you as only his son, and now as someone who has the potential to follow in his footsteps and do some honourable things with their life."

Apparently I've encouraged him as he suddenly leans into my side, his wing slotting comfortable against my own with unconscious manipulation. More than once someone has commented that their breadth seems cumbersome, but they're no less a part of us than our hands. We know how to place them comfortably, and Tempest has very tellingly moved so that my wing lies over his as a shield. His vents sigh hot against my side, drying my plates. "I don't know if I'll be able to. I don't think I have it in me to be a Prime."

With him this close there isn't anywhere to put my arm except for across his shoulders, so that's what I end up doing. It feels awkward but he doesn't seem to notice, resting his jaw on my hand against his shoulder. "Remember that you're still very young. A blip of a thing. Your Sire is centuries old and didn't become the mech he is overnight. No one will expect you to act upon this role for a long time. Until then, you'll grow, you'll learn, and you'll choose."

His hands play and fidget in his lap, fingers that can produce claws from their blunt tips wringing about each other. "But what if I choose wrong? What if I'm not good enough to be a Prime?"

It really should be his Sire talking to him, not me, but unknowingly and definitely without meaning to, Prime still exudes that 'regal leader' aura to his own son. It's just how he's made, and in heightened states of anxiety like this it can make him seem unapproachable, which isn't a word you could otherwise coherently apply to him. That being said, Tempest is still not two Earth cycles old and most species' kids don't talk to their parents at all.

I rub a thumb across a thick panel bearing deep scratches, drawing his optics up to mine. "Being Prime is as much who you are already as something you'll become, and the qualities are a blessing. Everyone would look up to your Sire even if he weren't Prime for his loyalty, dignity and wisdom, which are a handful of the defining characteristics of his title. But you are still free to choose what you do with your life." More softly, I add: "Just look at the Fallen."

Tempest gives a shallow nod, unsure but starting to come around. "I guess."

"Ultimately, 'Prime' is just a word. Most of what was associated with it in terms of tradition and office was lost with Cybertron. What it means now is protection – of comrades, family and those who cannot protect themselves." I offer a smile to one of the few beings I ever would. "You're a good spark, so that will always come naturally to you. The rest you'll work out with me and your Sire. You'll be okay."

He smiles a little, a warm rush from his vents marking a relieved sigh. "Thanks Scree."

I nod to accept the unnecessary platitude, then freeze when he curls his body even more firmly against mine. I think that… Yes. I'm being hugged sideways. If it were anyone but him or Ratchet I'd have taken their head off by now. After a pause I rest my hand on his back, trying to relax into the embrace with shuttered optics. I really am no good at this, and it's only occasionally that I wish I was better.

Oblivious, Tempest speaks softly into my aching chassis. "You should be someone's Sire."

A "hn" escapes me before I can catch it, and I give an unseen, bemused smile over his head.

"No really," he insists as he pulls away from me and sits up. His optics are steady on mine, and he seems absolutely intent on making me understand this. "You've been like a creator to me since I can remember. You should have a sparkling of your own to love and look after like that."

In the face of his seriousness I can't help a thin smile and quirked brow. Without conscious thought my thumb brushes down my chassis, over the busily working parts beneath. "Funny how you say that."

"Funny how?" Tempest is no fool, glancing along me with scrutinizing optics. The grin ultimately starts on the right of his mouth and peels up and across. "Really?"

I nod with a vague hope that he won't hug me again. I think I've reached my limit for today. "One week in, but we're keeping it quiet, so no telling Prime."

His shoulders sag a little but the broad grin remains, optics bright. "Aw, but Scree – he'll think it's great."

Rolling my optics and pushing up off my knee, I stand with folded arms to let the downpour wash off some of the mud. "No, he'll restrict my duties, stop me patrolling and tell you to leave me alone so I can 'rest'." I spit the last word. I hate that word. One week into this and I already want to corporealise that word and shove it down Ratchet's throat.

Tempest stands and bumps his arm against mine, all the anxiety and anger that was there before completely displaced by unencumbered joy. It must be nice to feel such a pleasant thing so completely. "And if it's a secret it's more special, right Scree?" My silence speaks volumes but my narrowed optics speak louder. He marshals his smile with raised, defence-stance hands. "Okay, I won't tell, but I'm really happy for you guys. I think you'll both do great with her."

I blink. "Her?"

He has the gall to wink, stepping closer to me and sweeping a hand over my chassis without actually touching it. "Seeker, Scree, and Forge felt different."

Now that he's said it I can feel it too – a tartness in the small energy field that signals a more compact body. It's not the first time that another Seeker's perceptiveness has struck me as mildly annoying as well as impressive, but it's the first time Tempest's done it to me. Usually it's Thundercracker. Usually he's right to do it.

I nod towards the Base. "Come on: wouldn't be responsible of me to let you stay out here whilst your Sire paces and worries about you."

"And you need to tune-up on your parenting," Tempest replies smartly, disregarding the mud on his body as he steps back to transform and perform a vertical take off.

I watch him hover for a moment before moving to turn into my alt mode with room to take off. I comm. Ratchet on the way back to notify him of our return, and to say that in a breach of character I couldn't go a week without letting the secret out to someone. Apparently this sparkling is already changing me, and it's going to be debateable if it's for the better.


	2. Chapter 2

Pitch

_Chapter Two_

Lennox knew it was going to be a bad day when he saw the leader of the Autobots accidentally knock over a stack of full oil drums, actually rolling the lights of his eyes before shifting down to repair the damage. Despite being two storeys tall Optimus wasn't clumsy, so the Major guessed that something was up as he jogged towards the kneeling mech restacking the massive drums.

"Morning Optimus," he began, considering trying to roll one of the cylinders closer but quickly conceding that the attempt would be laughable and utterly pointless. Instead he nodded in the direction of the building they were both due at. "Ready for the circus?"

Arranging the drums into a cube, Optimus glanced to the soldier over the battle mask. It had been in place all morning and he had no intention of retracting it. "No more than I was yesterday, Major, though things seem to be off to a prophetically poor start."

Lennox frowned a little, unused to this weary and depressive tone from the mech. "Forge keeping you up?"

Optimus seemed to consider that a moment, resting his hand atop the stack of oil drums before drawing it back across his bent leg. "Yes and no." He cocked his head a little. "Would you prefer a lift to the meeting?"

Ordinarily he didn't like sitting on Optimus's shoulder like a parrot, sharing Ironhide's opinion that day-to-day, when necessary, humans only had business being inside their vehicle forms. But, Lennox conceded, it would give them a chance to talk. "Sure, yeah. Shoulder okay, or should I stay in your hands?"

A large hand came down in offering and Optimus's voice was softly bemused. "Shoulder would be best today, I feel. I'm not at my most… composed, this morning."

"Tell me about it," Lennox affirmed beneath his breath as he was brought up, stepping off onto the thick panels alongside the mech's throat to stand against the tall smoke stacks. Once they'd started walking and he'd reaffirmed his balance and grip, he considered the shining profile. "So what's going on that's got you knocking things over?"

One blue optical light flickered in a brief sidelong glance, considering. He hadn't slept in four days, was almost certain that Starscream was carrying but didn't want anyone to know, and his eldest son had become hysterical upon learning that he was a future Prime and hadn't really spoken to him since. He decided to go with the last as they rounded the protruding Medbay hanger and began across the yard to NEST's meeting building. "Tempest was upset last night, understandably so, but left before I could talk to him. Starscream brought him back to the Base and he seems calmer, but he's reticent to discuss it with me."

Lennox patted a scratched blue plate, giving a thin smile. "That sounds like a universal problem with kids, Optimus: they never want to talk to their parents about what's bothering them, at least until they're ready to. But on the plus side, Tempest is talking to someone, and Starscream doesn't seem to be doing a bad job with it. I mean, he really looks out for that kid. Doubt that's going to change any time soon."

"True," Optimus replied, pausing as the Twins tore past towards the rec room. It was something he'd already thought whilst the Seekers were gone, and a point that Ironhide had then reiterated when he'd retreated back to their quarters from the Medbay. He shook his head a little, optics narrowing. "But I'm still concerned, and I fear that I'm the only one who can answer his questions about what's troubling him."

Knowing that the potential arrogance in that statement would be a mistaken find, Lennox broached, "As his father?"

"As a Prime," Optimus replied with a sigh, the tiny plates of his face shifting in a physical language of expression that Lennox wasn't yet fully versed in. "He's inherited the potential. The Matrix has been pulling for him; acknowledging him as such."

A blink as that sunk in and the human's eyebrows migrated upwards. He and Epps had speculated on the possibility of genetic traits being passed on now that the Autbobots were beginning to reproduce the old fashioned way, particularly as it had been Megatron's motivation when he'd forced the Prime to carry. That was something else they'd often wondered about, but the details of Tempest's conception were strictly off-limits to query for humans and Autobots alike. Instead, he settled for asking, "Does that mean Forge is going to be a Prime as well?"

To his surprise, Optimus seemed to smile a little. "It doesn't work quite like that. If the offspring of a Prime was guaranteed to also be a Prime, then there doubtless would have been some kind of breeding program on Cybertron. Megatron is powerful, which helped generate a powerful spark that fate saw fit to make a Prime. Though Ironhide is strong, he is not at Megatron's level."

A few Cybertronian steps from their destination, Optimus knelt as he brought a hand up ready to lower Lennox to the ground. "Please do not allow this information any further than Sergeant Epps. I fear for what these new human officials would do with such knowledge of my son as much as I do the Decepticons."

"No problem," Lennox agreed firmly with a nod, stepping off the metal palm onto the asphalt. "I don't like the idea of telling these new suits more than they need to know about you guys either."

* * *

Ironhide wasn't easily impressed – a long life naturally gave rise to this, but he was quietly satisfied with the fact that Tempest had yet to miss a target despite two hours of gruelling testing. NEST regularly procured large scrap parts for use on the range, including rusted cogs that could be slung discus-like as well as rolled across the scorched and gored ground.

Sending two cogs spinning high through the air and a third rolling in the opposite direction, the weapons specialist watched as the Harrier obliterated each target within a sharp arc, the shots clean and precise. He sent out two more in quick succession, forcing the jet to turn almost on a point to hit them both before the metal could begin descending to the ground.

The weapon's specialist unconsciously rubbed his thumbs through the orange rust flakes on the next cog, waiting for Tempest to regain altitude and quietly acknowledging his focus. He'd expected the Seeker to be a recluse today based on what Optimus had told him about this morning – at the very least to be distracted and moody. Instead, Tempest seemed to relish the activity and the fact that they weren't talking about his newest revelation. There'd been a grunted 'alright?' to start things off when they'd met, which alone seemed to suffice in Ironhide's processor without the sparkling's relief at that topic of conversation not going any further. Tempest had talked to Starscream and Optimus would keep the pressure off until Tempest spoke to him, in the meantime of which he'd have the happy task of assuring the Autobot Leader that his son would, in the end, come to him to talk. In his own time, and thus when he was ready to receive what his Sire had to say.

The stack of targets finally depleted, Ironhide waited for the jet to come back around and land, transforming into his bipedal mode a few steps away. A subtle scan arched his brow. The young mech's engines weren't even hot.

Tempest rolled his shoulders to finish transforming the last components of his wings, grinning at the broad mech. "What's next? Can we train with the paintballs?"

A rumbled sound as Ironhide stepped around the mech, physically checking his weapons for signs of warping from their first real bout of use. "No, and I'd hoped to have worn you out a bit before I got ya back on the ground, Pest," he murmured, finally coming to stand opposite him. "We're gonna do some ground work, now."

"Ground?" Tempest echoed with a frown. "But I'm an aerial bot."

A thin, crooked smirk. "All the more reason you should know what you're doing hand-to-hand. Bots like me are always gonna be trying to ground bots like you. Get you out of your element and at a disadvantage. The Seekers can teach you everything about aggressive and defensive flight better than I can, so I'm gonna focus on making sure you don't get slagged on the ground."

Tempest nodded, his expression schooling into seriousness. "Sounds good. So how're-" He cut himself off with a flinch when Ironhide suddenly flicked a connection on his wing, triggering a panel to shift back. He stared dumbly at the short black rod that fell out and landed in the older mech's palm. "What-?"

"Concussive compression bo," Ironhide replied as he twisted the cylinder, causing it to quadruple in length to the comparative size and flex of a human bo. "I call 'em bang-sticks. Good in non-lethal, close fights."

"The 'non-lethal' would be why I've never seen you use one of these," Tempest commented wryly as he inspect the silver tips of the weapon. "I had no idea that was even there."

Ironhide watched the mech twist the bo experimentally, testing its weight and balance. "I installed your weapons system so you couldn't accidentally trigger anything. Now you know it's there you'll be able to release it fine. Didn't want everything in your array to have lethal capabilities. You need to defend yourself, but you don't need to kill."

The bo stilled across Tempest's hands as his gaze dropped. "I killed Blackout."

Ironhide's mouth quirked. "You were defending yourself."

Tempest snorted with a humourless smile. "Not really. Mostly I was pissed off and wanted to make a point."

There was nothing he could say to that frank admission so Ironhide ignored it, nodding to the bo and widening his stance a little. "Don't go for my optics or 'panel, no projectile or energy weapons, but everything else is fair game. We'll keep going 'til you call quits."

"Or you say 'uncle'," Tempest affirmed, dipping his shoulder as keen red optics scanned over the other mech's stance. He'd been looking forward to this training session, particularly since last night's events. Though the maelstrom of shock, panic and something like anger had largely passed, an anxious energy had lingered in his circuits that needed to be purged. Doing something physical seemed the only way to go about that.

Checking the term and finding it apt, Ironhide gave a single nod before slamming forwards into the jet's chassis. Tempest staggered back with a grunt before stabbing the bo down into Ironhide's foot, earning a bark as the tip dispelled a hard burst of magnified kinetic energy into the complex workings. Not letting up, the Seeker twisted on the impaling bo to swing his fist into Ironhide's back.

The spar went on for several minutes, largely scuffling in the ground as Tempest moved without the honed fineness and skill that the specialist possessed. He was relying on thickened armour to shrug off Ironhide's blows, and his opponent being weaponless as he drove the bo into armour seams.

Ironhide held off but didn't go easy on the mech whom in spark and processor was still a sparkling, showing no gentleness in his throws but punching with restraint. This adult body had been well designed, he concluded when a hard elbow to the armour over his spark casing that would have driven other bots back only caused him to shout.

Grappling close again, Tempest shifted down into Ironhide's chassis and triggered the initial stages of transformation, snapping a wing into the mehc's jaw as the bo went into his shoulder. Through the resounding ache in his arm from the strike, Ironhide decided that that was enough for now and deftly swept his foot back to twist them both to the floor. Tempest rolled them so that he was on top, pressing the length of the bo across the mech's throat and staring down determinedly.

Ironhide froze as he met the bloody and intent optics. Alongside Prime's steady resolve there was a hungry determination to win that he'd rarely seen in an Autobot. That would have to be tempered, he resolved, though his spark had already pulsed with the cold reminder that this was Megatron's son, and that he should never forget it.

Flaring his armour in a sharp jerk that put Tempest momentarily off-balance, Ironhide twisted them over and deftly disarmed him of the bo. The inexperienced mech twisted to escape, exposing a vulnerable junction in his neck to Ironhide's fingers. They both fell still, the desk mech watching a myriad of emotions cross the Seeker's face as he squeezed the neural lines hard enough to make a point. It was obvious that Tempest was loathe to concede defeat after such a sudden turn of events, dentals clenched and limbs straining as he tried to free himself.

With a hard sigh, Ironhide leaned down and used his free hand to seize the pinned mech's jaw, demanding his attention. "Ain't no shame in admitting when you're beat, Tempest," he advised in a gentle rumble, optics softening as Tempest's shuttered closed. "Even the best of us can't win them all."

A few long seconds passed, before the thick body finally sagged. "Uncle," the sparkling replied quietly, hissing when Ironhide shifted his weight back and off to let him up. He rubbed at his throat, certain that he wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Ironhide flicked the bo with his foot to kick it into the air before catching it, twisting the centre to retract and deactivate it. He then offered a scarred hand to Tempest and pulled him to his feet. "That was good, Pest, but remember that we're training. Ain't no reason to be Pit-bent to win yet."

"Gonna be a pretty lousy Prime if I can't hold my own in a fight," Tempest murmured with a grimace, taking the offered rod back and replacing it inside his wing compartment.

Ironhide gave a grim smile and laid a hand on a broad shoulder. "Told you, mechling – no one's expecting anything from you. For now, 'Prime's just a word and a possibility. It's up to you what you'll make of yourself."

Absorbing the words that had been told to him repeatedly since this morning, Tempest nodded a little. Like Starscream, Ironhide wouldn't tell him anything other than the blunt and plain truth, and he continued to appreciate the honesty.

A ping to his Sire going unanswered meant that the meeting was dragging on, and Tempest looked to the dark mech with a sly smile. "I think Sire's going to be busy a while long. So, do-over? Both of us weaponless?"

"I might even let you off the ground," Ironhide rumbled back with a matching smirk, dipping his shoulder to meet the Seeker's opening charge.

* * *

Optimus had never encountered a human as machine-like as Eliza Swanson, and he felt no affinity with her for it. Sitting amongst five other officials from an agency above and unknown to NEST, she was the only one speaking. Swanson was lithe and pale inside a charcoal suit, blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun and her pulse unchanging as the minutes passed. The mech was used to an increase in heart-rate even in those who'd become used to them whenever one of their kind approached, but he'd sensed nothing from the woman seated atop the platform that brought her level with his chassis. She stood and exchanged introductions as if solely for protocol's sake before sitting again and crossing her long legs. From the chemicals rushing about the soldier standing to her left, Optimus could tell that Lennox disliked her intensely.

"There has been no hostile event involving your enemy faction within the previous fourteen months, is that correct?" Swanson stated as much as asked, holding a slim pen up between thumb and forefinger.

The mech nodded fractionally. "That is correct. There have also been no new Decepticon arrivals within the last twelve months, but in recent weeks their patrols have increased in frequency, which suggests that they are marshalling for an attack."

"On you?" It was pitched as an accusation though her expression was neutral.

The barely perceptible sound of dentals clenching. "Megatron does not discriminate between his targets, only wishing to bring destruction to those he perceives as weaker than himself and whom should bow down to his tyranny."

Swanson tipped her head a little, as if speaking to a child, though her tone was carefully measured. "But the sole reason Megatron and his army are here is to fight you and your army."

Two hours of this on very little recharge this week made Optimus want to fidget, to readjust the myriad of aches and tension amidst his frame, but he remained stoic and still beneath the woman's gaze. "The Decepticons first came here, within the lifespan of your species, to retrieve the All Spark. Once that was destroyed, Megatron divided his attention between converting this world's technology into fodder for his army and destroying your planet. We prevented the Fallen from harvesting your sun, but Megatron has remained. He is no longer here simply because we are. He now considers the humans his enemies as well."

"We've met them in conflict dozens of times over and killed more than a few of them ourselves," Lennox interjected before Swanson could respond, drawing a sharp look from the woman. "The Autobots have stayed here to help us against Megatron because he is –not- going to leave us alone now."

Swanson arched a brow and returned her gaze to the mech standing surrounded by their platform. Her mouth tightened fractionally. "Would you share your technology with us to allow us to defend ourselves without further reliance upon yourselves, given that it is wholly your fault that this planet is even involved in this conflict?"

The blue lights sharpened and narrowed. "We will not share our weapons technology with your species, and even if that were not my policy it would not help you. The Autobots have been fighting Megatron since before your solar system bore life, and it would be foolhardy to think that you could do better with technology you are inept to use."

Lennox whistled mentally, mindful to repress a smirk. It wasn't often he saw Prime this blatantly pissed off.

Swanson seemed unaffected by his tone and words, turning the page in her folder over. She looked up again, cool and frank. "The most recent debacle in Egypt didn't involve the Decepticons, and yet the American government has been left to clean up the mess, physical and political."

Optimus's head dipped a little at that, conceding her point of their guilt. "The result of exceptional circumstances, and regretfully so. Every effort was made to retrieve the artefacts we needed without notice from the local militia."

Swanson unfolded her legs and stood, coming about the long desk to lean back against it with crossed arms. "Unfortunately, you can never go unnoticed by any 'local militia'. We are being inundated with demands and threats to share the alien technology that only America is perceived to possess. Every military force on this planet wants to study you for weapons research. What we've had to label the 'incident' in the desert was the Egyptian militia attempting to capture one of 'our' 'war machines' that had strayed into their territory."

Her voice had sharpened and risen as she spoke, now bringing a hand up like a blade to point at the mech. "Your continued presence here has caused more problems than just collateral damage from your skirmishes, and the means it takes to keep you a secret, though poorly kept thanks to your very public appearances. The entire socio-political climate of this planet is in uproar over your kind."

"We have always agreed that we would leave if you asked it," Optimus replied softly though not weakly, unwilling to raise his voice as she had hers.

Her mouth twitched. "It's not in our best interests to make you leave. That's already been established. But that doesn't mean that we're obliged to give you sanctuary. We aren't convinced you're even sentient."

"What?" The word exploded from Lennox's mouth before he could stop it.

Swanson ignored the outburst, focussed on the Autobot leader. "You could simply be advanced technology. Alien, certainly, but not necessarily living. Any sufficiently advanced technology may appear as magic, or indeed," she smiled, "as life. If that's the case, the conditions of your stay would be quite… different."

The big engine rumbled a low sound that could have been described as irritation, though his expression remained open. Optimus took a step forward and tilted his head to meet Swanson's gaze optic-to-eye. "We are the first alien species your kind has made contact with, but though we are different we have much in common. Our values are related, which has allowed NEST to work alongside my people for several years now. Do not think that because we are not carbon-based that we do not think or feel at a capacity comparable to yourselves. We are content to teach you about ourselves, to satisfy your curiosity and to affirm that we are quite alive."

The human frowned, her interest obviously piqued. "You would permit our scientists to study you?"

"Under mutually agreeable terms, yes," Optimus replied smoothly, shifting his footing a little in an attempt to ease the ache that ran all the way up his backstrut. "Whilst Megatron was frozen you had ample opportunity to study our physiology, but you know little of our customs and how we live, of the bonds we have with friends and family."

"Ah yes, family," Swanson echoed, folding her hands across her stomach. "I'm given to understand that you yourself have recently had a child, though that information seems to have been largely suppressed."

A brow twitched upwards, vaguely impressed by her boldness. "It was a private matter that your authorities need not have known about."

The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened as her stare tightened. "As an unofficial asset of the US military, and the leader of the Autobot faction, it was wholly within our interests to know that you were pregnant." Swanson tipped her head, a slick smile playing across her lips. "I assume that is the term, unless you build your children manually from spare parts."

Optimus sighed a little but nodded, resisting the urge to press between his optics. It had been a long meeting an hour ago and it didn't show any sign of concluding soon. "It is comparable to pregnancy. Now that the All Spark and its ability to grant life have been lost, our children are born live just as they are for you.

Swanson turned her head just enough to share a peripheral exchange with the man seated at the end of the table, receiving a nod before she looked back to the waiting mech. Her hand blindly dragged the folder from across the table and she flipped it open like a prop, skimming over a printed document submitted by the Autobot leader only days ago. "You have requested permission to acquire a suitably barren area of land to establish a base for the Autobots away from the NEST hangers."

"That is correct," Optimus replied, satisfied that his request for a more stable home environment for the growing families amongst them was being considered within the context of this meeting. He could use the human's desire to learn about them as a bargaining chip. "We have been nomadic for millennia following the destruction of our home planet and the ensuing search for the All Spark. Aligning with the humans in fighting against Megatron has given us a reprieve and we have come to think of Earth as home for as long as the Decepticon threat remains on this world. We have been expanding the facilities here as our numbers have grown, but now that my people are beginning to settle and have children, a base more suited to us is desirable. In exchange for the land and materials, we would off our co-operation in your study of us in addition to continuing to fight alongside you." He raised a hand before she could speak, a smile playing behind the face mask. "It is at the discretion of your authorities, of course. If our request is denied we will remain here without objection and simply continue to build as needed."

"I think we can work something out," Swanson assured with a tight smile, though her voice had lost its sharp edge. "Childbearing and raising young is a fundamental aspect of our humanity, so your equivalent would be significant in confirming that you are alive and sentient."

Optimus nodded once, shifting again with a hiss of suspension lines. "I will assign a scientifically-minded Autobot to operate as a liaison and answer your questions." He had just the Seeker in mind.

"Sounds fine." She punctuated the statement by closing the folder, quirking a smile up as the mech straightened. "We'll contact you by the end of the day with a verdict on this request and, if approved, a preliminary list of suitable sites." Swapping the folder for another on the desk, she began flicking through the pages. When she spoke again, Swanson's voice lost its briefly softened quality. "Now, turning your attention to the defectors who have joined your side over the last year: what reparations can we expect for crimes committed whilst on the Decepticon side, including the murder of human soldiers and civilians?"

The processor ache that had been hovering at the base of his helm swelled forward to his optics, his vents sighing as he settled in for a long stay. If they did get permission to build a custom base, he was putting bot-sized chairs in the human's meeting room.

* * *

When Prime's meeting had run on past noon and he'd sent me a brief apology and a warning that it didn't look likely to end soon, I took Forge to the rec room. He has been fussed and entertained by the few bots that have passed through, though the Seekers have remained absent. Apparently Ironhide didn't completely wear Tempest out this morning, and there's now an impromptu mock battle taking place over the rise that's involved most of the bots at the Base. I suspect paintballs and a lecture from the fleshies tomorrow about the mess.

Appreciating the quiet of the rec room, I shutter my optics and turn my focus to the sparkling growing beneath the plates that Forge is resting himself against. The swell of her minuscule spark is hypnotic, fluttering a faster rhythm than my own but still almost in synch with its pattern. My chassis aches already from components being forced back and down, but it's still only a minor discomfort. Doubtless this would be harder with a mech. Doubtless Prime would be deeply irritated to know that I've yet to experience the protoform-deep nausea that he'd suffered with. Another benefit of the Seeker build, I presume.

The chirp of an inquiring ping from Ratchet and suddenly my chronometer is informing me that almost five hours have passed. Shifting a little from where I've managed to sprawl on my back across the rec room sofa, I find Forge draped across my chassis with his arms and legs dangling on either side, firmly in recharge. Apparently we both needed a nap. I send an acknowledgement to Ratchet of his ping but make it clear that I'm happy to be left alone for now, and that he'll probably be needed by the idiots over the rise soon.

The lights have been turned off but I have no trouble detecting Prime in the dim, his optics shuttered and metal whispering as his fingers rub over the thin plates. Ordinarily he's not one to sit in the dark and brood, but then his energy field is rarely this foul and I have his newborn sleeping on my stomach. _Are you here to take Forge back_? I ask across the comm., mindful of the sparkling.

Hand coming down to rest on the arm of the chair, Prime brings his feet up onto the footstool and lights his optics on me. _Not until he's ready. To be honest I was enjoying the peace._

I make to sit up a little but a warning chirp from Forge has me rethink it. That and how comfortable the sofa has suddenly become to lie on. Prime doesn't seem to be minding this informal pose – doubtless he ended up sprawled more than once whilst carrying Tempest and then Forge.

_That good a meeting?_ I broach, running a hand across the sparkling's back when he fidgets before stilling again, purring absently into my thumb.

The big mech shifts with a soft groan through his vents, a telling combination of being weary and aching in his systems. Before I can extrapolate what's going on with him, he speaks softly over the comm. _They are unconvinced that we are alive and sentient, thus unconvinced that we are deserving of any rights on this world despite what we have already done for them._

My optics roll of their own accord, a gesture I've picked up from the fleshies that seems universally apt for this kind of sentiment. _Fantastic._

Prime nods with an arched brow, evidently experiencing that same sentiment. He fixes me with a serious look, which is quite effective over the mask, which he seems to have been wearing a lot lately. _They also want reparations from the Decepticons who have joined our side for lives taken in conflict._

I sit up a little at that, scooping Forge more firmly against my chassis so he won't wake up. I'd been expecting something like this to happen – we couldn't defect and not expect it to be a completely peaceful acceptance into their ranks, even with Prime as magnanimous as he is. My body count of humans is likely near triple figures, to

say nothing of the twelve others now living amongst the Autobots. _All of us?_

A shift in the plates of his face that suggests his mouth quirking in that grimace that precedes bad news. _You got singled out as the highest rank to represent all._

I snort through my vents, not even trying to suppress it. _Lucky me._

He sits forward a little, bringing his hands together in his lap with the kind of thoughtfulness that says he's already given this a lot of thought but the solution's still malleable. _If you're willing, Starscream, it would be helpful on all sides for you to assist with some research the humans are doing. They see advancement towards a cure of one of their diseases or some solutions to their atmospheric problems as sufficient payment for all damages, and will drop the matter thereafter._

_I'm not going to waste my time helping the stupid fleshies dither about with mutated cells when their brains aren't developed enough to understand any cures that I hand to them,_ I snap back, adjusting Forge when he begins to chirp and squirm. The waking sparkling doesn't break my tone or sneer._ And they're too arrogant to just accept that we're smarter than all of them. Pit, some of them are so full of themselves they could defecate limbs._

Prime rises with a hiss of suspension lines and steps to stand over me, plucking Forge from my hands and blindly offering a feeding line that the sparkling grasps readily. His sharp gaze doesn't break from mine. _Let me rephrase that: you -will- be assisting the scientists for a minimum of ten hours per week for one year, via electronic means or in person, because the alternative is that I have to offline you in front of them in accordance with their death penalty._

I'm not intimidated by Prime, per say, but I strongly suspect he'd carry out that threat at the moment. _Quite a mood you're in, Prime,_ I comment, to which his optics narrow briefly and he returns to the chair. I watch him resettle the feeding sparkling, hot air issuing from his joints in waves. If I surprised him, I could probably take him right now. Rather than entertain the thought, though, I simply nod._ Fine. But I'm not curing anything that would kill them. Just quality of life slag. Everything else is population control, and there're too many of the meatbags on this planet anyway._

His vents shunt in a proxy nod, and with Forge awake he speaks outside the comm. "Fine. In preparation for that," he pauses with a raised hand_, _"and this is a request, I'd like you to act as an advisor for the scientists over the next few weeks."

Now that Forge is in his lap I can fold my arms. "I thought Ultra Magnus and Prowl were your diplomacy cohorts."

"Diplomacy I have covered, but science I do not. You're better equipped to explain matters of our familial structures and reproduction from a scientific standpoint, which they accept as firm indication that we are more than just machines."A small smile at some private joke. "And it would serve to occupy you without strain."

It takes a fraction of a millisecond for me to catch on, and his smile broadens when he sees that I have. "How?" I don't care that it came out as a demand, already expecting his response to be 'Ratchet'.

Instead his shoulder twitches in a shrug, and he seems mutually amused and clueless. "I'm Prime," he tells me, just as simply as 'Seeker' has been used as an explanation for when we've been able to pick up on a subtlety that groundpounders could not. Before I can re-engage my vocal processor he holds up a hand, the other unconsciously hugging Forge closer. "Congratulations to you both. I'll do what I can to keep your condition out of the grapevine until you are content for it to be public."

I shift a little having expected more of a response, though exactly what I don't know. "Thanks."

The brief brightness in his optics dims away again. "Luna's carrying as well, but I don't want the humans to know about either of you," he adds in a more sombre tone, optics sinking to regard Forge. "I'm hoping the acquisition of land for a new Base will be done within the next few weeks. If we can have just a few buildings in place, you can both deliver away from NEST and anywhere the Decepticons may think to look for us."

The Decepticons, and Megatron particularly, have been at the fore of my processor since this sparkling took, but it's not something I've thought on long enough yet to begin to act upon, or even mention. I nod conversationally instead. "How big a patch are you after?"

"Sizeable," he replies with a hiss, extracting the line from Forge's mouth now that he's made a game of biting it. "I've pushed for a minimum of two miles of clear land around us simply for automated defence platforms. It'd be preferable to be able to defend our perimeter without risking any human settlements."

It's a fair point, but the humans aren't necessarily going to oblige it. From the sounds of it this new authoritative body Prime's dealing with are worse than the senior members of NEST were. I know full well that they had arranged warehouse space and equipment for dissection before his body had been dropped to the ground four years ago. "What do they want for all that land?"

He shakes his head a little, rubbing his optics, and not for the first time I find that I don't envy his role. "I've scheduled a meeting for next week covering just that." A beat passes before Prime meets my gaze again, his thumb tracing Forge's back as the sparkling slips back into recharge. "Thank you for going after Tempest last night."

I nod as 'you're welcome' seems both redundant and sycophantic to actually say aloud. "Has he talked to you about it yet?

"No." Though toneless the word is far from devoid of feeling.

"He'll come around, though I doubt he'll want to talk about it in any depth for a while. The shock's passing and he's not angry, least of all at you." He doesn't look convinced, and I add, "He feels guilty for reacting like he did."

A rumbled sound of understanding and his gaze drifts back down to the sparkling. "It was wholly understandable. I just… I wish he didn't feel that way about himself."

"I know, but he's as thick-headed as both of his creators," I reply with what he'll perceive as a smirk. "It'll take him time to get his sense of self worth out of the ditch but he'll be fine whilst he's down there. He's strong, Prime, in spark as well as body. He'll be okay. Try not to worry so much."

He arches a thick brow at me, running a thumb across the bottom of his jaw. "You'll understand when your sparkling is born." Seemingly thoughtful, he cocks his head a little. "I must say that I'm surprised you and Ratchet decided to have one so soon."

Ratchet was too, I concede quietly as I watch my thumb tap idly against my thigh. It had been a spur of the moment decision in the end, diving on the chance when I felt bold enough to actually do it. After centuries of knowing that I wanted a sparkling and doubting that circumstances were ever going to be safe enough, it seemed almost impossible to clear the final hurdle of deciding to conceive. Ultimately, Ratchet got swept up in my enthusiasm last week after I pounced. Not that he seemed to mind.

To Prime's statement I shrug. "I figured that I'd have to go with the impulse when I had it otherwise I'd never commit myself to the idea."

"An interesting take on childbearing."

I look up again at the assessment, optics narrowing on his. "I want a sparkling, but there's a big leap between wanting and going ahead and having."

"You also fear it." He says it softly as otherwise it would have been condemning rather than bearing the stench of his pity.

It's an astute observation, though, and I know better than to throw it back in his face. There's an uncanniness with Primes in that sometimes they can see right through you and will hold out on the strength of their convictions even if you're not able to realise the truth about yourself that they have so clearly seen. It's one of the ways the Fallen held such sway over Megatron. There's nothing I can do but murmur, "Perhaps."

Silence stretches out between us but not uncomfortably, merely settling into the quiet of each other's presence. The ping against his antenna is inaudible but I notice the charge, and from how his optics soften I guess it to be Ironhide. Prime gets to his feet, confirming as much. "You're not as you once were, Starscream. You'll make a good Sire."

Overlooking the compliment, I stand as well, surprising myself with the soft groan that escapes as my throbbing chassis gives a fresh ache. I nod to Forge. "Let me take him for tonight. Primus knows I need the practice and you look ready to drop into a berth."

He deliberates for several long moments, regarding his sparkling and quite clearly torn. Finally though he holds him out with a sigh, watching as I take the dark body against my side where he croons and finally nuzzles back into deep recharge. "Thank you. I'll collect him from you tomorrow at your earliest convenience." A few steps towards the door he stops again, reticent. "If during the night you need us to take him back so you can rest, just comm."

A thin growl curls against my dentals at that word again, making sparkling-sitting a sort of challenge now. "That's your only strike for telling me to rest, Prime."

Bizarrely he chuckles. "Pride goeth before the fall, Starscream" he advises before touching a hand to Forge's head and finally making for the door.

Regarding the sparkling in my arms in the dark solitude of the empty rec room, I concede that of all mech's Prime would have the most right to talk to me about 'rest.' Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. He sure as Pit didn't.

* * *

The shower racks had been full for two hours with most of the occupants of the Base passing through from the massive mock-battle that had completely exhausted Ironhide's stock of paint balls. What initially began as teams banding together against other teams eventually descended into wild anarchy as no bot was safe from ground or sky, and there was no such thing as a kill shot. The scrub-down had been laborious though full of weary jest, and now the drains were saturated with three feet of foam from the cleansing gel. Water dripped from the sprinkler points in the ceiling throughout the whole room aside from the back wall where it continued to come down in a torrent across Ironhide's body.

Optimus noted the dim light as he stepped inside, joining the other lone occupant of the room. Oily water and cleansing foam quickly found purchase inside the parts of his feet, strangely soothing against his overheated lines. Crossing the wet room with dull, swishing footfalls, he spoke to his sparkmate's back. "You had fun today, I take it?"

"Best training session I've had in a long time," the dark mech replied as he turned, running his hands down his face to clear the last of the foam as the water continued to pour down him. A grin was still playing across his features as he went on. "I think I picked up more about using the Seekers in the future than I have from any organized time with them. Thundercracker's got no mercy – straight for the optics with the paint balls. Don't let that civilized veneer fool you. Not after what he did with Bluestreak's exhaust. And 'Pest's a pit-spawn for sneak attacks. Couldn't tell he'd had a rough night the way he was cackling up and down the pitch."

His sparkmate's mood was contagious even through the thick fog of weariness that had been haunting the taller mech for weeks, and Optimus joined him under the spray swiping off the remaining bubbles from Ironhide's shoulders. "I'm glad it was… productive. Certainly it'll have raised morale."

A rumbled sound of agreement. "No one likes it when the Cons are this quiet." Dark hands slipped around paler wrists, and Ironhide met blue optics with a grimace as he led Optimus further into the water. "That good a meeting, huh?"

Optimus shuttered his optics with a sigh and bowed his head into the spray, relaxing as the hot water seeped down through his parts as Ironhide's thumbs rubbed at his hands. "Starscream's taken Forge for the night."

Ironhide nodded, optics narrowing as his hands slid further up the long arms, kneading over kinked lines and sore parts. "I was thinking of asking around for someone to. Primus knows you need the recharge. Didn't know he was keeping you up so much."

"He's not," came a soft assurance as Optimus felt his systems sink into his sparkmate's knowing hands. It wasn't the massage itself that was helping, but the loving touch and the hot water combining to relax his tense systems. "I've a lot on my processor at the moment, arranging a site for a permanent Base and dealing with this new group directing NEST. Seven hours of talks today and very little resolved from it."

"You'll manage it, even if I have to stand behind you looking menacing," Ironhide replied flatly, one hand now at the mech's jaw as he ran a thumb along the face mask as a request to retract it. After a moment it slotted back, and he traced the myriad of scars covering his mouth and jaw. "Don't worry about Pest. I talked to him earlier and he's alright. It's his way to go quiet for a bit before he comes to you, which he will in the end, and Screamer's on top of it as well."

The dark hand paused before moving down, the soft purr of a warm engine signalling his intent as much as the fingers that traced the seam of Optimus's chassis. The taller mech took the probing hand in both of his own, stilling it with a humourless smile and a short sigh. "I really don't have the energy, 'Hide. I'm sorry."

Ironhide nodded a little at the soft words, unsurprised and sympathetic. He placed his hands over the blunt fingers, squeezing a little. "Just thought it might help wear you out enough to recharge. That an' I missed you out there today. Shame the meeting went on so long – would have been good for you to join in the fun."

Slipping his hands free, Optimus stepped away and tipped his head back into the spray to rinse his front whilst he was there. Truthfully if he hadn't felt so worn down he would have looked in on the last few hours of the paintball war, even if he didn't become actively involved. Recharge had been eluding him since Forge was born, though, as if his systems refused to go into their dormant cycle for more than a few minutes at a time. Ordinarily he'd go to Ratchet with it, but doubtless the medic was occupied enough with the carrying Seeker at the moment.

Deciding not to rouse Ironhide's concerns about the whole thing, he twisted the lever on the wall to shut off that water and put a hand to his sparkmate's back, guiding them both towards the doors. "I'm sure that between Tempest and the trigger-happy bots I'll have more than enough 'fun' in the near future. But whilst Forge is deciding to be nocturnal and the humans are attempting to sand my processor I'd rather lie on a berth with you and not move very much."

A grunt of a laugh and Ironhide fell into easy step with the other mech, flicking micro-parts of his armour as the exited the showers to clear away most of the water. "Sounds like a plan."


	3. Chapter 3

_An obscenely long chapter this time. I hope you're sitting comfortably…_

* * *

Pitch

_Chapter Four_

A week since the meeting with Swanson passed before Optimus began to feel that some sort of progress was being made. Not for him personally – Tempest had still yet to speak to him properly about the sparkling's recent revelation and effective recharge continued to allude him However the future for the Autobots whilst they remained on this planet had become clearer, though some of the details had yet to be worked out. He rubbed a hand across his optics, online for so long now that they were beginning to itch and burn along with a few other systems, before regarding the board on the briefing room wall again.

The large map of the United States bore a spray of forty-six blue pins, denoting the locations that had been approved as possible plots for building their new Base. He'd already placed a red pin against those areas he knew to be wholly unsuitable – industrial scrap yards, mines and one poorly chosen swamp, meaning that the rest would need to be scouted and assessed. And soon. With two carrying bots due within a week of each other and the new human officials sniffing around for information, they needed the privacy and security of their own base soon. Resting his full weight back against the table he'd been leaning on for more than an hour, Optimus settled in to wait for the minutes to pass before the meeting was due to start.

Twenty minutes early the door opened, and the mech looked up expecting Prowl only to straighten on his feet when Tempest stepped inside.

"Hi _Sire_," the young Seeker greeted weakly with a vague wave. He shifted a little as the door shut behind him, optics directed to the floor. "'m sorry for not seeing you this week. I figured that with Forge an' all you'd be busy."

The taller mech's mouth quirked in a smile behind the mask. "I'm never too busy to see you." An awkward beat passed and he resisted the urge to rub his neck, which seemed the only thing short of High Grade that made the taut lines running up from his backstrut slacken for a few minutes this week. "I've been worried."

Tempest touched a hand to the back of his neck, wing plates shuffling quietly. "I'm okay. I'm sorry I made you worried."

A quirked smile and Optimus shifted to the side fractionally, an invitation for Tempest to join him in leaning against the table. The sparkling took the silent offer, and he placed a hand against one broad wing. "It's what parents do. I thought you might be better coming to terms a little with things by yourself and with Starscream before I stepped in." He paused, wanting to apologise but stopping himself because to vocalise the guilt he'd assigned himself would only make Tempest feel guilty, which in turn wouldn't help anyone. The processor ache gave a fresh throb and Optimus finally shook his head with a weary smile. "I didn't want to crowd or overwhelm you."

The Seeker nodded, glancing to meet his father's gaze sidelong. "Thanks, _Sire_," he murmured, interlacing his hands between his legs and considering the floor with a bemused smile. He shrugged. "The shock's passed now, and I think I'm starting to understand that nothing's really changed. With you as my Sire, things were always going to be a bit different for me."

A soft sound of agreement as Optimus folded his arms, shifting fractionally against the table amidst fresh complaints from his systems. "Something I've worried about since before you were born."

"I know," Tempest replied softly, unsure where to take that statement and knowing that is well founded. Certainly he was aware of the elder mech's concerns about his future and wellbeing – probably more than enough for the both of them, but he also knew that the Prime was keen to allow him to choose his own path under the watchful optics of himself, Starscream and Ironhide. And he was grateful for that opportunity.

Tempest considered his sire with scrutinising scanners in the silence that followed, though he didn't need them to see the protoform-deep fatigue emanating from every inch of him. He'd seen that posture of uncomfortable tiredness before, and tipped his head with the start of a smile in recognition. "Are you carrying again, _Sire_?"

The big mech's vents coughed a laugh of their own accord, and Optimus arched a brow at his eldest. "Forge's delivery is far too vivid a memory just yet, and I doubt I have the energy." He shifted one shoulder to flex a stiff line, nodding towards the door. "Hopefully a few things will be resolved after this meeting." And he could spend a whole night on a berth ready for recharge if it did finally decide to come.

At the gentle hint Tempest straightened up off the table and briefly touched a steel-blue hand to his sire's arm. "I hope so. You need the rest." A glance to the door again. "Is Ironhide coming to this meeting?"

Optimus nodded once, folding his arms. "Yes, but I'll mention that you asked for him. Training?"

The Seeker gave an almost guilty smile. "Yeah."

Another sigh and Optimus stepped forward to study the map again, leaving the young mech to let himself out. Tempest stopped short just as the door closed behind him, optics widening at the collection of bots lingering in the corridor. Jazz and Ironhide were leaning against the grey well, Prowl and Ratchet standing opposite whilst Ultra Magnus and Thundercracker spoke quietly a little way down the corridor.

Ironhide rolled his neck to the tune of clicking parts and hissing lines as he straightened. "Talk to yer sire, 'Pest?"

Tempest took in the assembled mechs again, nothing that they were all keeping their optics averted from his in a polite gesture of privacy. He met the darkest mech's stare. "Yeah. I think he's waiting for you all now."

A rumbled sound of approval from Ratchet, and his voice was soft. "Good. We didn't want to interrupt you."

Prowl moved first, offering the Seeker a quirked smile as he stepped past through the doorway, the other mech's following behind. Ironhide lingered to the last, resting his hand on a broad shoulder before going inside. "'bout time, mechling. I'll see you on the pitch later for practice. Five aside. Got us a cement ball we can wreck."

* * *

"Starscream," Ratchet began, sitting forward and with a tone that in no way suggested that he and the Seeker were partners, let alone expecting a sparkling, "is going to teach the humans about our culture? Starscream, who has the tolerance of Nitroglycerin when it comes to humans?"

Optimus raised a hand to cut off the inevitable tirade, the other brushing over his optics above the mask. "As a scientist without a project it gave him a job, and it will help develop his tolerance. He's with Swanson right now." His optics met the medic's gaze. "I'm surprised he didn't mention it."

Jazz bumped Prowl's elbow with his own. "Lovers' tiff."

"Now that I would like to see," Thundercracker commented with a wry grin.

"_Place yer bets!_" Bumblebee 'coughed' into his fist, cutting off the recording at Ratchet's glare, which threatened implements and the application of heat.

Optimus brought his fingertips down on the tabletop hard enough to draw attention whilst not quite slamming his hand. "Enough." Ignoring Ironhide's frown and the quizzical pulse down the bond, he turned to Ratchet. "Starscream needs to make some kind of amends to the humans for what he did as a Decepticon, and it will pave the way for the rest of us to," a head shake, "earn our keep."

"What?" Prowl's chair scraped as he sat, somehow, even straighter. "Earn our keep? Was saving their world from destruction at the hands of the Decepticon's –twice- not payment enough for the use of a collection of airfield hangers?"

"The Decepticons are only here because of our continuing presence, and I'm a reticent to leave this world whilst Megatron is still a threat," Optimus replied in a tone that said he wasn't in the mood to debate this, much as he agreed with Prowl. The debating and negotiation with the humans – several hours and forty-seven emails of it – had already been done. "The current proposal is to assist in advancing their space technology. It's not a weapon, and with their short life spans and current available fuels they wouldn't be able to venture close to any inhabited worlds even with our help. At best they'll find some interesting rock specimens and colourful bacteria."

Bumblebee played a snatch of music from _Independence Day_, stopping at the droll look Magnus cast him. The newest mech looked up the table to the seated commander, built so like him that more than one human had mistaken them for brothers. "When would you have us start?"

A grim smile behind the mask that they would only pick up on from long experience, and Optimus produced a stack of data chips from a shoulder compartment. "Not just yet. There are two other more pressing matters that need attending to." He began separating the chips and sending them skittering across the table to each bot.

He nodded to Prowl, Jazz and Thundercracker, seated in a line to his left. "Jazz, I want you to take one of those long drives of yours that stays off-record and see what you can find." The small mech gave a mock salute, though remained silent as the Autobot commander went on. "Send Skywarp out at the same time, though in a different direction, which I'll leave to your discretion. If the Decepticons are watching, they'll be more interested in following a defected Seeker than someone who will only give them the slip after ten miles."

"Will do, Boss Bot."

"Prowl," Optimus continued, affording himself the little luxury of sitting back in the oversized chair. "I'd like you and Thundercracker to see if you can listen in on any Decepticon chatter. They've been too quiet for too long, and we can't afford to be caught unawares."

"I think we can manage that," the slim mech affirmed, noting Thundercracker's peripheral nod.

"What about us?" Ironhide asked, not needing to indicate Magnus to signal that he was referring to the Autobot's two Big Guns.

"Just in case the inevitable attack comes sooner rather than later," the mech replied evenly, "you'll both be here to help defend the Base." At their confirming nods he looked to the scout sitting between Ironhide and Thundercracker. "Bumblebee, as you know we've received permission to build our own Base at any of these pre-approved sites. I need the most viable investigated from a defensive standpoint as well as sustainability."

Bumblebee scanned over the blue pins, dutifully committing them to memory and beginning to plan a route. "Consider it done, Sir."

"Take Sam with you, if you can," Optimus added, brushing his optics again. It felt like his processor was going to begin leaking out of them at any moment. "The site needs to be agreeable to humans as well. He has an educational break next week that he may be amicable to spend on an extended road-trip. Take another bot with you for safety." He tried to draw a name but none were forthcoming. "Anyone logical who volunteers."

Ironhide, Magnus and Prowl shared a look at the weak instruction, but Bumblebee merely clicked an agreement.

Optimus took in the silently waiting mechs once again. "That's all for now. Is there any other business?"

Ratchet raised his hand, expression thick with sarcasm. "If you don't lie down and recharge soon I'm going to slag you."

A flicker of irritation. "Any other business?"

Ironhide brushed the bond with a fixed expression. :If you don't recharge and Ratchet doesn't get there first, -I'm- gonna slag you.:

Optimus ignored the silent comment as Magnus shifted, resting his wrists on the edge of the table. "Bluestreak told me about Luna yesterday, so we can all stop pretending we don't know about the sparkling."

Ratchet gave a thin smile, though his expression was otherwise unreadable. "She already knew that you'd all guessed it. Bluestreak's the one that's been clueless. You'll have to act surprised when he tells you himself."

Thundercracker exchanged a smirk with Magnus that the big mech was valiantly suppressing. "That sparkling's going to be smarter than he is."

* * *

The fleshies, though an alleged sample of their finest minds, are an exercise in tedium. With Ratchet in Prime's meeting I've held this chit-chat in my corner of the Medbay, the two human scientists accompanying Swanson sitting on chairs on my workspace whilst Mikaela and Sam sit a little way off and facing them – siding with me, ironically. Swanson herself seems to have a scientific mind, guiding the conversation and asking most of the questions on her colleagues' behalf. I'm devoting part of processor to how great a volume of ingredients I'd need to make enough rust sticks to last me the next five weeks, based on my cravings so far, and searching Amazon for computer games.

Swanson taps the plunger end of her pen in my direction at the top of her folder. "So the traits of the parents, their allegiance if you will, isn't automatically inherited by their offspring? Two red eyed Decepticons could produce a blue-eyed Autobot, correct?"

An idle sip of energon that I've doctored to hold a richer charge and I nod fractionally. "The Seeker build is largely hereditary and the qualities of a Prime are more likely to occur in their offspring, but those are only concrete examples. Traits of strength, intelligence and particular aptitudes are supposedly passed on through the spark, and optical colour stems out of that. Bots with more innate aggression and thirst for conquest tend to have red optics. The Decepticon faction catered to that, but as you know, some switch sides."

The shorter male scientist looks to Swanson for permission to speak before raising his hand to me. "Political allegiance is largely nurture rather than nature, then?"

It's a concerted effort to keep the patronising lilt out of my voice. I could get a canine to grasp this in less time. "Yes. Like you, we impart values to our young but try to allow them to make their own choices."

"Why not simply download what you want them to think into their CPUs?" Swanson again, with that smile that makes me want to peel her face off. "As mechanoids you can do that, surely."

Rampage always wanted to skin a human. Just to see if he could, apparently. "No," I reply eventually, noting that Mikaela and Sam have their jaws resting in their hands now, projecting boredom and frustration. "Sparklings are born just as incompetent as your infants are."

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes, as if she's trying to catch me out on a mistake. "Why?"

Sitting forwards in the chair, I shift my wings a little to ease off an ache across his backstrut and rub my optics with one hand. It's too easy to neglect compensating these creatures for their shortcomings. With a patient exhale through my vents, I intertwine my fingers and reply to her directly. "Humans have some of the most dependent infants on this planet because of their proportionally large brains in comparison with other mammals, which is in turn effected by the pelvic capacity of the carrying females. If a baby's brain were to develop to the state where it would be born immediately able to walk and diagnose danger, like an antelope, then it wouldn't fit through its mother's birth canal. It is born stupid and gullible and must rely for many years on its creators to teach it. Our sparklings are the same. Their processors cannot develop beyond a certain point in carriage, nor their bodies, because we would not be able to birth them. Even the All Spark only gave life, and it was our primary means of reproduction since the beginning of our race." Until you found it, hid it and ultimately destroyed it, you cretinous meat sacks.

I clear my vents, reminding myself of Prime's lecture prior to this meeting. "We are not simply fully competent beings from birth. Like your species, our kind must learn as it grows, developing a personality and aptitudes that will define it as an individual."

The taller male now, who's largely been silent and taking notes for the last hour. "There's no basic programming supplied during pregnancy?"

Finishing the energon with only a twinge of nausea, I sit back and interlace my hands between my legs. It's becoming an effort to keep my tone 'civil'. "Just the prerogatives of energon consumption, recharge cycles and a linkage with parents. The All Spark granted the same as part of its instantaneous gift of sentience."

Swanson nods and makes a note in her folder. "Yes, we're familiar with the life-giving properties of the Cube."

I had already read something into her tone before the youngest humans had squirmed, further piquing my suspicions. Surely they didn't get it to work for them. "How do you mean?"

The male to Swanson's left tips his head to me. "Before it was taken by the Autobot Bumblebee and subsequently destroyed, we experimented with instilling Cybertronian life in pieces of our technology. Phones, camcorders, televisions – those sorts of things."

There's a cold feeling between my spark and the growing femme beneath it. "What did you do with the sparklings?"

"The results of those experiments?" the other male asks, sitting back a little at something he perceives in my expression. I couldn't -possibly- fathom what.

"Dissected and destroyed." Swanson's tone is crisp and confrontational. I stand and force distance for their own safety, putting a berth between myself and the humans on the workbench as she goes on unperturbed. "They were violent, incommunicative and valuable as specimens for close study."

One fist on the berth, my other brushes over the sparkling without conscious intent. "You murdered the infants."

"Humanely," the first male is quick to defend, though I can clearly see the whites of his eyes.

A 'tuh' from Mikaela as she folds her arms. Sam speaks for them both. "Didn't look very humane to me." He has the bearings to meet my stare. "Simmons showed us, right before Mission City. He brought a phone to life then blew it up the second he'd made his point."

Primus, they're as twisted as I am. Was. Probably still am. How many newsparks were born into their violently incapable hands, never to meet another of their kind, only to be torn apart to feed their lust for knowledge? Every fibre of me screams to avenge this, and Prime's kowtow dealings with the humans make less sense than ever before. We killed humans caught in the crossfire of our war, but they murdered our newborn children.

My claws sink into the padded surface of the berth, creaking loud enough to draw me back out of my spiralling thoughts. I've pledged allegiance to Prime, and he will shelter this sparkling from Megatron to the best of his ability. Much as I'm loathed to admit it, I need him and the forces he commands. I can't go against his orders as satisfying as it would be to reduce these creatures to pulp.

Sam clears his throat childishly and Mikaela continues to watch me. The three scientists remain wisely silent until Swanson clicks her pen. "Moving on." A page turned and I shake my head in open disgust. "I understand that the Autobot leader, Optimus Prime, has recently given birth to an infant. When could we arrange to see it as the first specimen successfully gestated on this planet?"

They don't know about Tempest. Prime's managed to hide the sparkling's parentage all along. A stab of pressure in my chassis makes me shift.

"-He- is called Forge," Mikaela interjects before I can respond.

"And you'll have to talk to Optimus about that," Sam goes on. "You don't have any right to demand to see Forge, and if you think Optimus or Ironhide are going to let you do any weird experiments on him, you're in for a hell of a shock."

Swanson flicks through her folder again, though I get the sense that it's a needless act done for effect. "Ironhide, the Autobot weapons specialist? He's the father?"

"'Creator' is the correct term in this context," I reply mildly, my fists resting on the berth as I try to ease off the strained part without drawing attention. "When a sparkling is carried by a femme, the Creator is dubbed the Sire. When a mech carries, he is the Sire and the other the Creator."

More notes and Swanson smiles. "So the representatives of the first alien race this planet has encountered are in a homosexual relationship and have borne offspring. That should make the gay rights movement very happy."

I don't manage to stop myself rounding the berth but I do restrain myself from popping the wet sack of her in my fist. The leash on my temper is still taut. "With such a narrow mind I'm astounded that you ever got out of the trees and stopped throwing your own faeces."

The smaller male. "Perhaps we should call it a day for now."

Sam stands. "Smart move."

Swanson doesn't make any motion to stand. "Are there any current pregnancies amongst the Autobots at the moment?"

I wish I could kill her. If it weren't for this sparkling I'd have already done it. "No."

Her eyes narrow on me before she finally nods and gets to her feet, not breaking the stare. She's waiting for me to let them down, but before I can scoop her up and drop her face-first on the floor, she raises her pen with another question. "You're very protective of your young, aren't you?"

My extended hand moves to rest on the edge of the workbench, my vents rumbling an agreement. "Our young are vulnerable and very precious to us. I hope you'll come to understand that."

She gives a stiff nod, her gaze still hard. "And I hope that you will be more civil and forthcoming the next time we meet. If you're to make reparations on behalf of the defected Decepticons, you're going to have to do a lot better than this. I'm currently unconvinced that such a violent species as you yourself have demonstrated yourselves to be, murdering innocent civilians in a conflict they were not involved in, are capable of the care and familial values you so profess." A slim brow arches, challenging. "I'm hoping you'll prove us wrong."

I keep my expression perfectly neutral as I scoop her and the two males into my hands with no particular care, swallowing back a sneer even when they are on the ground and beginning to silently make their way out of the Medbay. My inability to respond to her stupid human words burn more than I'd willingly admit, and I momentarily forget that the two 'friendly' ones are still here as I run a hand across my face. When I look to move Sam and Mikaela they're both watching me, but I leave them no time to voice whatever it is that's passed through the fleshy polyps atop their spinal cords. I put them down with more gentleness than I'd shown the scientists and make a point that they are to leave by returning to my workspace and sitting down.

They're silent as they leave, but as the doors are closing my audios pick up their exchange.

"Never thought Starscream would, y'know, have feelings like that."

"That's what he's trying to teach them, Sam."

Feelings indeed. With a snarl at no one I take up a fistful of components that will become my femme's youngling processor when she grows out of her newspark protoform, forcing my cooling vents to calm. It's a quiet project that only Ratchet and Prime know about, and one that needs to be done with care. Though my hands are steady my processor is not, and I soon find myself setting the pieces aside again and resting my helm in one hand. Another twinge turning into pressure in my chassis makes me fidget, and I press against the minutely bowing parts only to freeze at the vibration that comes back.

She's beginning to move, a week earlier than I'd anticipated. The reality of this sparkling is suddenly nauseating and I rub my optics, trying to will the feeling away. I wouldn't change this, though. As poor a Sire as I am for the danger my past will bring her, she is precious.

* * *

_Starscream had left the lights off after coming into what had unofficially become his shared quarters with Ratchet, sitting on the edge of the berth with only the bloody light of his optics to cast shadows about the room. In one hand he absently thumbed the end of the auxiliary line he'd fed Forge from an hour ago, still tingling from the remembered feeling of the sparkling's hungry latch._

_Optimus had been reticent to leave Forge again, but a stock review with Lennox in the armoury was no place for an infant and the Seeker had gladly taken him for the hour. It had been spent quietly in the empty Medbay, Forge falling into recharge with the tip of the feeding line still held in the corner of his mouth. Starscream hadn't minded losing an hour of his time, being unable to work or move for risk of disturbing the sleeping mech. Instead he'd simply watched, feeling the small vents stirring air and parts shifting as he fidgeted minutely. _

_When Optimus returned, equally filled with guilt and gratitude, he'd been reluctant to see the sparkling go. The odd hollow feeling in his chassis hadn't left yet, and had stirred his processor to think deeply on something he'd contemplated at length many times before._

_When Ratchet stepped inside and paused just inside the doors in the dim room, the words blurted from Starscream's mouth before he could stop them. "I want one."_

_Ratchet hesitated for a moment before coming to sit alongside the Seeker, noting the slumped posture and strange, crestfallen expression of the other mech. He lay a hand on one wing, his fingers slipping into a now-accustomed position where the thick plates joined and the mech's 'skin' was sensitive. "One what?"_

_A sidelong look and Starscream straightened, gathering his composure about him before he responded. "I've done a lot of fragged up things in my life, Ratch'. A lot of things I'm never going to be able to amend for. But I could be a good Sire. If I had the chance, I'd be a good Sire."_

_The medic's optics shuttered in a surprised blink. He knew the subject had been playing on the Seeker's mind, but he hadn't expected such a concrete conclusion so soon. "You want a sparkling? Now?"_

_Starscream shifted, uncomfortable, his head dropping in a show of uncertain vulnerability that was so different to his usual haughty stance that it had Ratchet thrown the first time he'd seen it. The Seeker wasn't one used to asking for anything, and definitely not for something he cared about._

_A sharp hand came across to rest in Ratchet's lap, seeking out his hand and mingling their fingers with a slowness that bordered on shyness._

_Ratchet silence every vent and system, feeling at the precipice of something momentous. Starscream was deadly serious about this, and terrified of being rejected. His optics conveyed as much when he finally, softly, admitted. "I'll never let myself do it if I bail out now."_

_The medic stared back for a long moment, searching the optics so unlike his own from old habit more than anything else. It was a huge request, but already he knew in his spark that he couldn't deny it. He'd known that he'd have a sparkling 'eventually', and something like love had been slowly blooming in his spark for the Seeker. It was enough._

_A flicker of a smile and he tightened his hand in an assuring squeeze, nodding once. "Okay."_

_Nothing like relief or elation was obvious, Starscream's features held under iron-control for this exposed period. His vents cycled noisily, as if his systems had been frozen still up until this point. His optics hardened though not unkindly. "It has to be on my terms."_

_Six months ago Ratchet would have taken that as pure arrogance. Now he knew it was stemmed in fear and a need to be in control. "Okay." His hand on the Seeker's back rubbed thoughtfully, his optics narrowing minutely. "Do you want me to-"_

"_I'll bear it," Starscream cut in, a smile beginning to break through on his features though his tone remained serious. "I'm no stranger to arduousness, and I want to. But I don't want anyone to know. Not yet, anyway."_

_Between the Decepticon threat and Starscream's inability to let show that he had emotions that seemed sensible, Ratchet conceded as he hummed his agreement to the terms. "That's fine. I can monitor your progress off the record."_

_Satisfied, Starscream released the medic's hand and swiftly moved to kneel over him, straddling the strong thighs with a smirk._

"_You mean right -now-?" Ratchet managed, optics brightening as his engines shifted up a gear at the Seeker's teasing proximity._

_Seating himself back on his bell-shaped heels, Starscream cupped the thick neck in one hand whilst the claws of the other tripped and traced an electric path down the central seal of his chassis. "No time like the present."_

_Chuckling an agreement, Ratchet allowed his mouth to be crushed to the Seeker's as he pulled the heavier mech forward to leave them pressed flush. The room filled with the clicks and shunts of armour loosening to bare glimpses of and access to silvery protoform, beckoning firm fingers and hot mouths._

_Blue webs of electrical charge blossomed and faded over the Seeker's wings, metal groaning as he rocked against the other mech under the duress of skilled hands. Ratchet grabbed the Seeker's hips and aft to steady him, moving one long leg to hook around his waist and secure them solidly upright. Sharp fingers found purchase on his neck and shoulders, vents roaring hot air as Starscream shifted and hissed._

_Their mouths were violent, no holds barred passion and a need that neither had known in interfacing before. There was no coyness in their chassis spinning and shunting open, revealing sparks bright and throbbing with anticipation. A joint groan as interface panels slid back to reveal slick lines and darkly recessed ports, the most active conduits of which twitching with energy._

_Drawing his processor together enough for coherent thought, Ratchet cupped the Seeker's helm and brought his mouth from the bittersweet splinters of protoform exposed in the mech's neck. His voice when it finally came was rough. "Are you sure?"_

_Meeting the azure gaze as his hips began to rock, the fluctuating proximity making their sparks swell to reach for each other, Starscream gave a jerked nod. "Please," come out unbidden, and his optics shuttered as his head tipped back._

_Grunting assent and an attempt at cognitive control, Ratchet pushed a hand beneath the shifting Seeker to hook his active line into the unused port. There was a low keening sound from the aerial bot the connection, and Ratchet was quick to seize his body close again. Their sparks met in a molten blast that made their optics flare and shards of watery light pour from between Starscream's dentals._

_A sparkmerge didn't necessitate movement as energy pooled and washed between both sparks in intense ecstasy. The grappling of hands and mouth, of twisting so that Starscream ended up on his back with Ratchet shuddering over him, stemmed from something deeper and ulterior. _

_At the crux of climax, with the Seeker's lines charged with data and his chassis open and receptive, Ratchet felt his spark swell and crack painlessly. He lost track of the splinter of life when overload swept over him, carrying it across between their straining bodies to be lost in Stascream's light. Through the distant electrical haze, he watched the Seeker's optics glow gold from the massive surge of energy, and light flare from his mouth and throat._

* * *

I jerk back to myself from Ratchet's hand touching my back, the other moving to my chassis and his head tips at the soft sound of moving metal coming from inside.

"She's moving," he announces with a smile, optics brightening with warmth and his hand on my back rubbing a slow circle. His professionalism is quick to come in, though. "She's developing very quickly. Must be something about the Seeker build. The Seeker femmes I supervised delivered healthy bots two orns early."

About two weeks by this planet's rotation, then. I concentrate on the feeling and can make out the ghostly sensation of small legs and the smooth curves of undeveloped wings. "How was the meeting?"

He rolls his optics and shifts on his feet, the hand on my back coming up to stroke my neck with his thumb. Since I began carrying I've found myself craving this otherwise sickening fawning. "As expected: Optimus continued to ignore my order to get his aft on a berth recharging like he should be; missions were divvied up to ascertain what the Decepticons are up to; and five-a-side has been scheduled for next Thursday afternoon, with Tempest refereeing." A squeeze to my hard lines, easing out a little tension, and he meets my optics. "How did it go with Swanson?"

My vents grunt to convey my feelings succinctly. "I didn't kill her."

A rumble of a laugh and he steps in close to me, wrapping an arm about my shoulders and touching his chin to my helm. "Well that's something."

I sigh and allow myself to sag back into his warmth, crushing down my feelings towards the hypocritical idiot. "It was an exercise of great restraint."

His arm spasms tightly in a brief hug and his tone is sincere. "Well done." A silence that suggests there's more to come as his vents skip a cycle, and I only have to wait seconds for him to add, "Prime knows."

"I know," I reply with a twitch of a smirk, not needing to see his face plates pull together in irritation. "He, I don't know, 'sensed' it a while ago."

A thoughtful sound and I hear Ratchet's lines move in a slow nod. "I stayed behind after the meeting to see if I could convince him to come to the Medbay so I could take a look at him properly." He shakes his head, irritated. "His regenerative capabilities are being compromised now as well as his mood. My scans aren't picking up anything as to why he's not recharging properly, so if it is anything it's likely microscopic, but getting that aft-headed diplomat in here is like-"

He's seen my expression reflected in the array of glass and metal lining the wall and looks suitable chastised. "He said that he's happy for us and that he'll respect our privacy and our –well, -your- want for secrecy, until we're happy for it to be known. He also said to speak to him if you need anything, or if the workload he's given you is too strenuous."

"Of course he did." Considering the myriad of parts on my workspace, I finally rub a hand across my closed optics and brush my fingers against his wrist. "Ratchet?"

He shifts a little to look down at me, optics bright with concern. "Yes?"

My expression is comparatively neutral. "Get me some rust sticks."

A soft smile graces his features. It suits him. "Okay."

* * *

Optimus wasn't quite dragging his feet when he arrived at Bluestreak and Luna's quarters, but he wasn't far off it. With the meeting over and confirmation that Starscream hadn't brought about a diplomatic incident with Swanson, he had the rest of the day free and he intended to spend it with his sons. Luna answered the door at the first chime, stepping back with a broad smile as he beckoned the mech inside.

Before he could ask, Luna spoke with genuine warmth in her voice. "He's been as good as platinum, Prime, and has kept Blue quite busy."

Looking past the yellow femme, Optimus saw Bluestreak sitting cross-legged in front of Forge and flicking poker chips into the air between them. Forge was firing a microlaser from his left shoulder into the targets and sending them off in all directions with thin wisps of smoke. "So I can see," he agreed softly with an arched brow. Touching a hand to his finial as a cue to Luna, he brushed against the sparkbond. :Ironhide, why does our son have a laser weapon installed?:

The bond thickened with a sense of being caught, but not guiltily. :It's only a soft laser. Worst he's gonna do is brown a marshmallow with it. Just wanted him to get used to a targeting system early on, is all.:

The tall mech fought back a sigh as he approached Forge and got down on one knee, mouth quirking in a wry smile. :And you thought that seven weeks old was the time to arm our son with his first weapon?:

Dead silence, and after a moment Optimus let a soft chuckle filter through before closing off the communication and bringing his focus back to the room. Forge chirped at him gleefully, the barrel of the laser weapon twitching as he tottered to his feet before a thin red blast fired upwards. Instinctively Optimus blocked the shot with his hand, conceding that it wasn't dangerous. He'd barely felt it.

Lifting the sparkling in both hands he brought him to optic level. "It's not nice to shoot at people, Forge. Only targets are allowed."

Bluestreak flicked a poker chip in his hand like a coin, snorting a laugh. "And Decepticons."

Optimus nodded a little, conceding the point. "Targets and Decepticons." A low sound and his voice softened. "And maybe Swanson if she keeps insisting on six hour meetings."

Luna crinkled her nose. "That bad?"

A rumbled sigh spoke volumes. "We're as unfeeling and entitled to rights as a stapler, according to her, and have thus far been working on the premise of being given the benefit of the doubt. I'm trying to convince her scientists otherwise by highlighting our familial structures."

Bluestreak folded his arms, optics bright with mirth. "I heard you sicked Starscream on her."

Optimus allowed a thin smile. "As a scientist, though I'm gradually opening to the idea of utilising his more nefarious skills." Regarding Forge again, he touched a finger to the sparkling's black belly and triggered a high pitched giggle. "Returning to the laser, absolutely no firing at humans. Do you understand?"

Forge squirmed and nodded. "O ba oomz."

"Yes, no bang humans," Optimus translated with smile, bringing the sparkling against his chassis. He watched for a moment, waiting to see if Forge wanted a feeding line.

"He ate about an hour ago, Sir," Bluestreak informed brightly, slipping his arm around Luna when she came to his side. He nodded to the soft swell of her abdomen where plates were gently bowing out. "Figured I should get some practice in."

"It's much appreciated, thank you." Optimus remained on his knee to equalise their heights, unable to stop smiling at the couple. "How's your little one coming along?"

Luna ran a slim hand down the armour that covered the silver mesh of the sparkling's umbilical cocoon. "Perfectly, according to Ratchet. She's already strong."

Optimus nodded with a soft sound, placing a thick thumb into Forge's hands when the sparkling began reaching for it, mouthing the tip with babbling chirps. "I'm hoping that we will have a sufficient amount of the new Base built before you are ready to deliver. The purpose of our new home will be to have the space and freedom to build families, after all."

"Thanks for fighting our corner on that one," Bluestreak said in a more serious tone. "Primus knows we appreciate it."

"It's not an achieved goal yet, but we're getting there," Optimus replied softly, holding Forge more firmly to his chassis as he made to stand. Something in his knee whined hard before stopping abruptly, his body juddering down briefly before he regained control and forced himself up right. Unfortunately neither bot had missed it.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Luna asked, her fine brow knitted with concern.

A short nod, both affirmative and dismissive. "Nothing that a tune-up won't fix. Thank you both again for watching him."

"Anytime," Bluestreak replied as he walked the taller mech to the door. "Just let us know for next time if Ironhide puts any bigger weapons on the little guy."

Luna caught up with the mechs and came to stand by the door, her expression hesitant though she seemed intent to speak. "Prime, if I may?"

He raised a hand, expression softening. "Optimus, please. What's on your mind?"

Though she knew that the offer of familiarity was meant to reassure, she couldn't possibly use it, and Luna schooled a shy smile at the invitation as she rested a demonstrative hand to her abdominal plates. "I think it may be helpful if I talk to Ms Swanson myself and tell her about the sparkling. Share my experience with her."

Bluestreak folded his arms, unconvinced based on everything he'd heard of the woman. "Femme to femme, you mean?"

Luna nodded, looking back up Optimus's tall form. "If you think it might help."

Blue optics narrowed in consideration for a moment before he gave a hesitant nod. "Just talking wouldn't do any harm, certainly. I'd be wary to allow you to do anything more. I'll set up a meeting unless you change your mind."

"Please."

Optimus touched a hand to her shoulder, relieved when the small femme didn't move. "Thank you, Luna. I suspect you'll be able to cover areas that Starscream shan't."

* * *

After being filled in by Jazz about their upcoming mission, Skywarp sought out Arcee at the quietest end of the Base: ironically, the firing range. She was practicing shooting manoeuvres atop a stack of industrial sized tires, firing mid-flip and cartwheel at empty paint cans stacked on wooden posts. Seeing the approaching Seeker, she spun in a high arc from the top of the structure and landed with a gentle bounce on her splayed feet.

Rubbing the back of the warm weapon, she watched him close the little remaining distance with a bright smile. "Hi 'Warp. Do you know how the meeting went?"

He rolled one shoulder in a high shrug, scuffing his feet in the dirt and smiling down at the slight femme. "Oh, y'know, catching up on gossip, Prime and Ironhide having a mini domestic which TC totally didn't see the humour in, and orders dispensed." The Seeker rubbed the back of his helm, squinting one optic. "Uh, I've got a jaunt with Jazz to do tomorrow. Should take us away for a couple of days, and I was wondering if you'd like to, I dunno, maybe do something when I get back?"

Transforming the weapon back into her forearm, Arcee arched a brow at the mech's shuffling invitation. "What did you have in mind?"

Encouraged, Skywarp nodded eastward with bright optics. "There's a beach a couple hundred miles off that the humans can't get at because of some pretty cool rock formations. It's really nice, and there are some good dunes for tearing around on just a little way off of it."

Arcee pursed her lip plates in exaggerated consideration, hands sliding onto her hips as she watched him shift his weight uneasily from foot to foot. "I think," she began slowly, a smile breaking onto her features, "that'd be nice. Few cubes of High Grade and it'd be a good night."

Grinning broadly and clearly relieved, Skywarp nodded quickly and rubbed a hand down his arm. "Great. I could take you up so we get more time – if that'd be alright."

Her smile faltered a little and she frowned, tipped her head curiously. "I thought you didn't like carrying anything in your hold?"

His head ducked a little as his vents cleared. "I don't normally, no, but as it's you… I think it'd be okay. If you don't mind being tucked up for a little while. But it's up to you. I mean, if you want to drive yourself I can meet you there and then we'll both be… there, anyway."

The femme suppressed a laugh but couldn't disguise the grin. "It sounds cosy, and it'll certainly be quicker."

A jerked nod and Skywarp rubbed his head, biting his glossa behind a smile. "Great. That's, uh, really good. I've gotta go now. Prime wanted me and Jazz checked over with Hatchet and stocked up on energon before we left. You know how the Doc just hates missing an opportunity for a service." A half-step back and he hesitated. "So, I'll maybe see you later?"

"I'd like that," she replied softly. As the Seeker made his way back to the Base, a distant corner of her processor idly marvelled at how much had changed to make this conversation possible.

* * *

Whilst Prowl and Thundercracker spent the following four days tracking between the Base and numerous vantage points in the hopes of finding a crack in the Decepticon's communications, Skywarp and Jazz had remained away and in a communication blackout until their return. When Skywarp had roared back over the Base in time to join in the match, signalling that Jazz was on his way back from his extended covert drive, a swell of relief had filled the Autobot Commander's chassis.

An hour into the match, Optimus had retreated over the rise and led back in the long grass on the slope, savouring the sun soaking into his plates with shuttered optics. From over the rise he could hear the chaotic sounds of the match, and had seen enough games now to speculate on what exactly was going on.

The small gathering of human spectators waving beer cans and hollering their opinions into the fray.

Hot Rod's victory dance on the few occasions he managed to score.

Jolt's smug wave to Hot Rod when he scored.

Ironhide and Magnus obeying tactics for all of ten minutes before fixating on tackling each other until the next round, or until Sideswipe came over to knock them both back towards their respective teams.

The Seekers, Thundercracker on Magnus's team and Skywarp on Ironhide's, stalking the base of the elevated goal posts ready to take to the air whenever the medicine ball ventured too close.

The Twins hurtling insults at each other and performing every illegal manoeuvre that Prowl could conceive as they continued to perpetuate the fact that it didn't actually matter if they were on the same side or not: they were still going to be primarily interested in fighting each other.

Tempest hovering overhead as referee, using his vectored thrust ability to stay above the action and his sharp processor fixed on the state of play.

Ratchet goading more violent contact and then shouting when damage was actually done.

Wheeljack trying to convince Prowl that making the ball light up/hover/give off sparks was a good idea, really.

The ball chipping and shrinking as it was battered up and down the pitch, ploughed into the dirt and kicked hard enough to send chunks flying off.

Some time later the Porches' engine droned close, ultimately power sliding up the slope and transforming with a flourish to land on one knee at the Commander's side. Jazz set his hands on his knee with a grin. "Hey Boss Bot. Enjoying the sun?"

"More than I was the anarchy taking place on the pitch," Optimus replied through a half-smile, beginning to push up on his elbows to stand.

"Chill, man, it's cool," Jazz quickly assured with raised hands, enforcing informality by then sitting with crossed legs in the grass facing the semi-reclined mech. Somehow picking a flower without mangling it between thumb and forefinger, Jazz turned the bloom in front of his optics and shook his head. "'fraid I didn't find anything out there, as 'Warp probably already said."

Settling back again with one wrist beneath his helm, Optimus watched the thin wisps of cloud heading eastwards. The Seeker's communication had been brief, his enthusiasm over making it back in time for the game overwhelming all want for a full debriefing. Optimus had agreed to let him give it first thing in the morning. "He said he didn't understand it."

"Quieter than deep space and more, is why," Jazz affirmed grimly, flicking the flower into the breeze. "Didn't see a single 'Con even when we went well past their patrol borders. Not a sniff. It's like they're not even here."

"But doubtless they are," Optimus concluded with a rush of stale air.

Jazz tapped his head, gazing up the rise when a loud serious of hoarse laughs rose against the background 'fush' of a fire extinguisher. The smoke that rose was comparably negligible, and he tracked its progress upwards until it dispersed in the wind. "Any word yet from Prowler and TC?"

Optimus shifted to rest his hands atop his middle, optics shuttering as weariness finally burned at him enough to try shutting down a few sensory systems. "No luck yet, but they're trying a new location tomorrow in the hopes that they'll be able to pick up something. Thundercracker is certain that he will, and that it's just a matter of patience."

Jazz gave a slow, easy nod, stilling with a smirk at the sound of a crash and more laughter from the pitch. "How's the babe?"

"Becoming more and more enamoured with Luna and Bluestreak each day." Deciding that he'd indulged himself more than enough, Optimus pushed himself upright and looked at some point just past his feet. "They're anxious about becoming parents themselves, so are particularly eager sparkling sitters."

The black ops bot was easily skilled enough to read the subtlety in the innocuous reply, and knocked a fist to the big mech's arm. "You don't neglect him, Prime. Pit, you barely had time enough for Ironhide before everything else on this spinning mudball kicked off. Big job, little time, and hey," he went on with a smile, "we all like getting our turn to play blocks with Forge. So don't sweat it. That mechling gets spoiled rotten by pretty much everyone here, and that's just how we like it."

Accepting the point and grateful for it, Optimus tipped his head and ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Still, at the rate bots are getting together we may need to include a crèche in the design of the new Base."

"Yeah," Jazz agreed with a laugh, "or ol' Screamer's gonna have a pack of the little critters following him around all the time." He shook his head though the mirth remained. "I really don't get why babes love him so much. Must be secretly good at hugs or something."

Optimus arched a thick brow, optics bright. "You'd have to ask Ratchet about that."

As if cued, the throaty wail of the medic's sirens erupted over the rise and Optimus automatically got to his feet. Jazz followed suit with a spinning flourish. "Game over."

The Autobot leader turned and began a steady ascent up the rise, knowing Jazz would keep stride. "Yes. I wonder how far embedded the Twins are in the goal this time."

* * *

Starscream followed the elder Seekers from the pitch back to their shared quarters, immensely grateful that Skywarp hadn't lingered with Arcee when the post-match party had wound down. It was only when he entered and found them both sitting expectantly that he realized that that had been quite deliberate.

"So you're finally going to tell us, are you?" Skywarp asked archly, rising to his feet and placing his hands on his hips.

Starscream looked between them both with narrowed optics. "Tell you what?"

Thundercracker made an obvious gesture, also standing. "Why you've been avoiding us for almost the whole of the last month." Stepping past the paler mech, he stopped short when his sensors picked up on the anomalous reading. His mouth hung slightly open as he met the other's stare. "Primus, Star…"

Rolled optics and Starscream moved past him to sit down with a sigh. "That's why."

Skywarp looked between the dumbfounded Seeker and the wearily seated one with a knitted brow, throwing out his hands just a little. "What?"

Stirred out of shock, Thundercracker slapped the flighty mech on the back of the helm and joined his senior on the wide sofa. Sitting forward and lacing his hands between his knees, his question came with a confused shake of his head. "Why'd you hide it from us?"

Starscream shook his head a little, smirking when he noted Skywarp finally catching on with a short burst of static. Looking to Thundercracker and finding the concern there to be thick with mounting worry, he dropped the flippant lightness that had seemed safer but didn't feel right now. "I didn't want it to be common knowledge."

"You and the Hatchet?" Skywarp asked, his frown deepening.

"Oh everyone knows that." Thundercracker shifted gingerly, obviously keen not to disturb the carrying mech's body as he adjusted his wings on the sofa. When he spoke again, his inflection was hurt. "Who'd you think we'd tell?"

At the ranking Seeker's hesitance, Skywarp lashed a dismissive hand through the air, optics bright and near-furious at the unspoken accusation. "Slag it, Starscream, we're loyal to you. More than to Prime, and definitely more than to Megatron."

"I know," Starscream eased with a raised hand, brow knitting as the sparkling fidgeted and added further physical unease to his emotional load. Looking between them both, he replied to Thundercracker who seemed to have already caught on. "I just know what would happen if Megatron did get wind of this."

A low sound of agreement and Thundercracker's optics darkened, his mouth pulling down in a hard, grim line. "Probably exactly the same thing when he finds out after she's born."

Skywarp nodded a little, brows raising as he stepped forward and descended to sit in front of the two Seekers on the custom-built sofa. He looked to Starscream almost apologetically. "He's right. Megatron was fragging seething when you defected."

Starscream gave a thin smile, sitting back with folded arms. "Figures. He's lost without me."

"Seriously, he wanted to do to you a lot worse than he'd ever do to Prime," Thundercracker went on, one hand moving to hold the mech's arm. His optics flickered down momentarily, drawn to the warm pulse of new life concealed to the optic but brilliantly vivid now to his sensors. "Your sparkling… He's not going to pass that opportunity up. The second someone mentions this on the wrong frequency and Soundwave hears it, or one of his spies sees it…"

A hard whine as Starscream's body stiffened, optics narrowing and his nul ray warming instinctively. "He won't get her."

Skywarp grimaced, optics bright and his tone impassioned. "He'll never give up once he finds out. And he –will- find out."

"Frag it, 'Warp, you think I don't know that?" Starscream snapped back, going to stand but remaining seated when Thundercracker placed a firm restraining hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, going on, "You think I haven't already obsessed over this pit-forsaken fragging thing? The only way out is to kill Megatron, but as no one's managed to do that with any permanence yet, and I'm somewhat compromised at the moment, I don't see how-"

"Tempest could."

Starscream turned on Thundercracker with obvious angered astonishment that it was him who'd made that statement. His tone was as low as his optics were narrowed. "Repeat that."

There was no hesitation before he answered. "He's Megatron's son and part Prime. If anyone's going to do it, he will." Thundercracker glanced to Skywarp and noted his agreement, looking back to the third Seeker with an expression that spoke of reluctance to point this solution out but a deep knowing that there was no other choice. "He's got Prime's determination and reserves, and Megatron's complete lack of mercy in the face of blind rage."

Now Starscream did stand, taking long furious steps away from the other mech but stopping short of the door. He'd had no intention of walking out but he wanted the exit at his back, a way out nearby as he glared down at his subordinates. "I am not sicking Tempest on Megatron. Not for anything."

Skywarp rose to one knee and finally his feet, watching the Seeker as one would a dangerous and frightened animal. The logic in Thundercracker's argument was sound, and there was an awful knowingness twisting in his tanks that had him seizing upon this idea to protect the first sparkling born into their group. "Sooner or later, your sparkling is as good as tortured and dead if you don't."

Raising his hands and baring his sleek palms, Thundercracker took a tentative step closer, and then another when it was permitted. "I'm not suggesting that you tell him to go and do it. But you could engineer a situation that would incite him to."

Skywarp moved to stand alongside the elder mech, a pace behind so as not to crowd. "Get him angry enough and nothing will stop him. We'll go with him, and Prime'll send the Autobots after him in a sparkpulse. The Decepticons would be as good as wiped out within days and Megatron would be dead." His spark contracted in earnest, the resonance carrying through in his voice. "Your sparkling would be safe."

Close enough to touch and without the watchful Seeker moving away, Thundercracker laid a comrade's hand on his shoulder, face composed and tone resolute. It was clear he spoke for them both now, without hesitance. "We'll follow your lead, Sir. Always."

Starscream's optics had narrowed to dark slits, projecting great unease with the proposition despite the fact that his processor was already exploring possible plans. He knew what this aggressive need to protect was rooted in – he'd long felt exactly the same thing himself, and he appreciated the sentiment in both mechs. Finally he gave a short nod, giving the only reply he could to both steady gazes.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

Ironhide had made an effort to stay awake until Optimus slipped into recharge, purely to make sure that he did so. After an hour of lying on the berth with nothing but the whisper of their vents and Forge's sleeping chirps, he'd shuttered his optics for a moment and somehow four hours had passed and the big mech was gone. With a grumble he'd taken up the recharging infant, grabbed a cube of energon and made his way across to the Commander's office, stepping in without warning.

Optimus wasn't in recharge on his desk as he'd been hoping, but sat with the large map spread over the surface and gazing at its details as if it may yield up some clue as to where the Decepticons might have gone. The points where Thundercracker and Prowl had tried to make a hack into their communications already were marked with blue-tacked poker chips simply because he'd run out of pins. The map was a mess of notes, circles, vector lines, assorted coloured pins and what looked like a doodle of a thin woman falling through a trap door.

"I'm gonna get a slagging tranquiliser gun if you don't stop this soon," Ironhide warned, coming about the desk to take up his customary position leaning against it and facing his sparkmate. Optimus had jerked slightly at his presence, not noticing the dark mech's entrance until he spoke. It added to his bubbling feelings of unease and worry, and he held out the cube with extra insistence. "You're talking to Ratchet tomorrow if I have to tie you up and drag you."

A soft sound of appreciation from the taller mech as he took a sip of much needed energon, feeling the ache that now ran throughout his protoform ease a little. "He's fairly occupied with Starscream at the moment, and I don't want to bother him with a simple thing and have it turn into a full service." At Ironhide's unconvinced look he shook his head a little, looking to Forge with a soft smile. One of the benefits of having a sparkling around was that it deterred arguments. "It's nothing, anyway. Too much on my processor."

Ironhide frowned, though not entirely at his partner's dismissive approach to his health. That he was very much used to. His processor had picked up on an inflection in the reply, though, and it niggled. "What's up with Screamer?"

Optimus considered him for a moment before sitting back, satisfied that Ironhide would keep it quiet. Whilst working together to treat the necrosis that had threatened to wipe out the Autobots only months ago, the unlikely pair had become sort of push-shove friends. There had been a healthy respect of physical prowess before, but the distrust that had been felt towards the Seeker over his relationship with Tempest was gone now. "They're keeping it quiet for now, but he and Ratchet are expecting a sparkling."

A grunt of a laugh and Forge stirred, though quieted again back into deep slumber at a reassuring brush from Ironhide's thumb. "Screamer's plugged? Way to go, Doc. Explains why Pest has been following me around nagging for training and not him." Unconsciously he thumbed a deep lash down his arm, a marker of just how quickly the youngest Seeker was learning. He only had to show something once and it could be repeated, point out any error that landed him on his aft and that mistake wouldn't be made again. It was unsettling, truthfully, as much as he was proud of his progress. A soft sound as he traced the mark, the wide burn that lined it. It hadn't hurt and hadn't come close to penetrating his armour, but he had the feeling that the only reason for that was Tempest's restraint. "I don't reckon Starscream could take a friendly spar with the mechling at this rate."

The grey feeling across the bond told Optimus that he was referring not to the Seeker's condition but to his son's fighting, and he cocked his head with a frown. It was strange that Ironhide wasn't simply proud of his protégée. "His training's going well?" he broached, leaving the inquiry hanging.

Ironhide met his optics and adjusted Forge, drawing the comparatively tiny body closer into his chassis. "Give him a few years and he could match you on brute force. When he's got experience, ability and tactics honed as well, there ain't gonna be much that's gonna put him down."

"I'd expected as much," Optimus affirmed quietly, pushing himself up from the chair as he relented to try to recharge again. "I'm sure Megatron did as well."

The dark mech tracked his movements with bright optics, processor whirring and vocaliser full but hesitant to say what was truly bothering him. At least outright. But he felt that some kind of warning needed to be made, as he suspected that there were some things about his son that Optimus couldn't clearly see. "He was made as a weapon, Optimus, and he's gonna be dangerous if we don't manage him. I don't know how much of his Creator is in there."

"Evil is not inherited, and Tempest is not tainted by having Megatron as a Creator," Optimus replied smoothly, considering the brightly shimmering liquid in the bottom of the cube. "He will be powerful, yes, but he will live by the values we teach him."

Ironhide shifted a little, hesitant. He could recall all too clearly the intent in the Seeker's body, the barely-restrained power in his strikes and the unrelenting lust to win that seethed in his expression. "But Optimus-"

"Tread carefully, love." The words were soft and well-meaning, but there was no mistaking that Optimus meant that to be his one and only warning. After a moment his optics softened a little and he stepped closer, touching an apologetic hand to his sparkmate's arm. "It's not a subject I'm easy speculating upon, 'Hide. I'd appreciate it if you did not often try to make me."

* * *

Sat on a high plateau that Thundercracker had had to fly them up to, Prowl adjusted the connectives that linked his processor to the Seeker's as they scanned for Decepticon frequencies. They'd been coming out to a new place every day, but even before the dawn had spread a wet carpet of light out beneath them they'd felt a renewed kind of hope that this would be it. They'd come North – very far North, and the height, clear air and queer stillness that seemed poised for discovery had stirred their spirits after days of nothing. Today they were mutually sure that they would manage a solid hack of a Decepticon frequency and find out what was going on.

Prowl had not spoken of the belief aloud but there had been a renewed energy in his movements as he'd surveyed the mist below them, waiting for Thundercracker to set up his processor. The Seeker had admitted it to the mech's accommodating smile, though not the true reason of want behind the certainty that today would be it. He wanted to find and hack a channel today because he wanted to find out where Megatron was and deliver that information back to Starscream so that he could make his choice. This had become much more than an Autobot mission in his processor.

They sat in silence and both were grateful for it, snow gradually piling on their armour. Amongst the Autobots, and with the exception of Prime, Prowl was the most appreciative of silent company and the chance for companionably introspection. He didn't need to converse to be comfortable, and certainly not when there was a mission at stake. Thundercracker, who had long become used to the one-sided chatter of Skywarp as a wingmate, was enjoying being able to immerse himself in his task without worrying that the mech playing lookout and supporting his systems was becoming too distracted to do his job properly. Prowl was focussed and patient, a trait the Seeker was heartily coming to appreciate.

"I've got it." The words cracked through the air sudden and arresting, prompting Prowl to rest a hand over the connective lines feeding from his processor to the Seeker's. Thundercracker drew on the additional processing power as it was offered, trying to boost the signal with a frown. A short nod of confirmation and he met the mech's optics. "It's faint but Soundwave hasn't got it completely masked up here."

Rather than distracting him with a request to share the audio, Prowl waited silently and scanned the vicinity again. His processor was beginning to ache from the drain but it was a discomfort he'd anticipated and appreciated now as the cost of their success.

Ten minutes passed before the Seeker spoke again, and then it was only a spat word through tightened face plates. "Slag."

Prowl straightened, his full attention returned. "What?"

With a grimace Thundercracker began extracting the myriad of lines that fed beneath his helm and bridged across to the tactician's, rubbing his optics against the processor ache that had been a steady present since this mission began. "The Nemesis."

"Our intelligence reports said that was destroyed," came the quick response, accusation borne on the back of desirable disbelief.

Thundercracker's mouth quirked in a grimace as he shifted to face the smaller mech. "No, it was lost centuries ago – all hands dead, but the ship itself was never found." A nod to the sky, as if its ominous presence already hovered over them. "It's being remotely brought in now and should reach its destination at the edge of the solar system in a week. And that's where it's staying."

With the transmission either finished or lost, Prowl started to loop the lines around his hand but quickly gave up. He shook his head, noting the awful cleverness in the plan. "Where none of the planetary defences could do anything about it and neither could we."

A thick sigh through the Seeker's vents and he rested his jaw on his fist, brow contracting in thought. "He must be planning to use a space bridge to get his forces there. You couldn't make a powerful one with the resources available on this world, but forty astronomical units he might be able to manage the power for."

"If Megatron gets his forces onto that ship-"

"We will be massively outgunned. He could take this world within a day."

"So we'll have to find the spacebridge and destroy it before the Nemesis gets within range." Prowl's optics brightened as he ran the logistics, shoulders tightening in anticipation of the upcoming battle. "The defences he'll have around it will be enormous."

The point didn't need to be agreed with, and Thundercracker gestured in the direction of the distant Base. "We can't comm. this in. If we transmit then Soundwave's going to be able to find us, and like Pit will he let us take this information back to Prime."

Prowl nodded, bringing his attention back to the loose lines and quickly wrapping them around his hand before placing the bundle in a hip hatch. The snow creaked as he moved. "Radio silence until we get back. If you carry me, we can be back in eight hours."

A soft sound of agreement, distracted. "Prime'll call an emergency meeting."

Shifting up from his knees, Prowl folded his arms in thought as he waited for the Seeker. "And we'll be looking for the spacebridge by tomorrow afternoon."

Thundercracker rose to his feet with a stiff nod, extending a hand to draw the slighter mech close in preparation for transforming his body around him. "Let's get to it."

* * *

Ratchet will doubtless threaten to slag me when he discovers that I've been working all night with an emergency meeting scheduled in the small hours, to which I'm to provide my inside knowledge of the incoming Nemesis. My conversation with Thundercracker and Skywarp had haunted me, though, kept my processor spinning whilst my spark throbs too big in my chassis, strangling my vents and crushing upon the sparkling in turn. The clawing sensation didn't ease as I thought it would when I'd come up with the solution, and had turned colder and dreading the longer I worked on it.

It seems fitting now that I have been making this tiny thing all night, working in the deserted Medbay with only the lamps over my corner lab bringing stark illumination to the place. I've been sipping energon because I know I should, my appetite having long shrunk to nothing despite the sparkling's strain on my systems. Now the half-drunk cube has been left untouched for an hour as I've scanned and rescanned the chip, noting the clean programming and the near-invisible digital debris it will leave behind. It's been a long time since I've made such a piece of technology from scratch, and I'm relieved to see that my skills haven't dulled with disuse.

The door opening is obscenely loud and I shift back from the bench with my prepared response to Ratchet's coddling on my glossa, concealing the chip in a gentle fist. I'm immediately silenced to see that it's Prime who steps inside, leaving the lights untouched as he carefully closes the door, likely as quietly as he opened it despite my over-sensitised audios.

His optics scan the room before fixing on me, and I hear his vents sigh as he touches a hand to his jaw in an 'I give up' motion. "I'm sorry, Starscream, I thought Ratchet was here."

"He's recharging, as you should be with this battle briefing coming up," I reply evenly as I get to my feet, folding my arms as I take a few steps towards him.

Prime smiles a little, his tone wry. "You've got even less of an excuse not to be recharging. I know full well how tiring carrying is."

"I was just finishing up," I reply flatly, glancing to the youngling processor I'd left staged on the workbench. He seems caught between staying and leaving, and I force a concerned curiousness into my voice. "Something on your processor?"

Predictably he shakes his head, dismissive, and puts a hand to the door ready to leave. Under my stare he finally relents, admitting, "I was going to ask for a light sedative so I can recharge for a few hours." A flicker of almost-rolled optics. "Just so I won't end up mispronouncing 'Megatron' when I give the briefing."

So he does know just how badly this lack of recharge is beginning to compromise him. Stupid Autobot should have been in here weeks ago, but as he's here now, I've had the opportunity to carry out my own plan to safeguard this sparkling handed to me on a silver platter. Much like how Megatron wanted Prime's head delivered if he was cheated of the kill himself. It's an effort to keep the grim smile off my face.

"There's something causing a glitch in your recharge program from what I can tell. It needs repairing, not having sedatives exasperating it." Gesturing to the largest berth, I continue towards him to hint at the fact that I'm more than willing to drag him if he makes me. "I know processors just as well as Ratchet, and unlike him I won't make you stay for a full service afterwards. I'll run a deep scan and see what I can do before you step on a fleshy which can't be un-squished."

Prime shifts, clearly uneasy with the prospect, but I stab a hand towards the berth before he can vocalise a protest. "Lie down before you fall down. This shouldn't take long and then you can go and recharge."

After a moment Prime obeys, his systems sighing as the warm, padded slab takes his weight off his overtaxed joints and his lines begin to twitch from the relieved tension. "I didn't know you could repair processors," he comments as I drag a stool from the workbench to sit behind his head.

"Seekers look after their own," I reply softly as I run my fingers across the seams of his helm. The panels part without hesitation, revealing some of the most fragile parts of this mech. So vulnerable, so trusting, so accepting, even as the light of my scanner probes and pries. Only Autobot medics have every gotten this close.

It takes half an hour for me to fully inspect his processor, unsurprised to find the problem being caused by damage that would have gone unnoticed without such careful scrutiny. Doubtless Ratchet would have found it if Prime had subjected himself to close inspection. Or gone into the stasis lock as he was heading for.

"Have you found anything?" he asks when he hears my scanner deactivate.

I make a soft sound of confirmation. "Looks like the Matrix didn't make you completely immune to the necrosis whilst you were carrying. Some corroded circuitry is junking up your recharge subroutines to knock your systems back online after... twelve minutes?"

"Nineteen," he corrects softly, optics shuttering.

"I was close." Rolling the stool back to the workbench, I retrieve a few slender tools that Ratchet has installed naturally but I'll need to manipulate by hand. "It's inactive now, but the decay it's caused was aggravated by your jaunt in the desert and delivering Forge, and it was only going to get worse now that your self-repair nanites have been compromised. Straightforward repair and you'll be back to spec afterwards, but I'll need you offline to carry it out so I don't scramble anything."

"Thank you," he murmurs with evident relief, remaining still as I reach over him to slip a probe into the juncture of his neck. Dropping immediately offline, his vents fall silent and his optics darken.

With his helm open to me, I curb the tremor in my hands that wants to hesitate or abandon this whole pit-forsaken scheme. I force my processor to become as clear and blank as I can make it whilst I complete the repair, sitting back again when the corrosion is gone and I could reactivate him. The quiet of the Medbay suddenly seems oppressive, and every bot recharging in the Base far away. It's only us here, and the sparkling growing like a tight knot in my chassis. I run a thumb across the panels covering her, feeling the first signs of distortion in my frame, and resolve myself with a tight jaw.

I swap out a processing chip for the one in my hand, delivering the data package across with a short charge. It'll lie dormant until I reactivate him. Changing the chips back around leaves no evidence of the transfusion, and I clean the bind just to be sure. Once I'm satisfied I trigger his helm to reseal, reaching for his chassis again and hesitating with the probe. With a sigh, reaffirming the fact that there's no going back to myself, I slip the probe into the hidden juncture.

I don't expect him to move so quickly.

* * *

Ratchet came into a nightmare when he reached the Medbay, having broken into a run halfway down the corridor once he'd heard the sounds coming from inside. Starscream's sudden panicked comm. had wrenched him from recharge and not been forthcoming on details. He slammed the lights on and found Optimus straining violently to get off a berth, one hand fisted around the Seeker's throat and jaw in the air. From his dark optics and drunken motion, it was immediately clear that he was in deep recharge and trapped in the worst flux the medic had ever seen.

His immediate instinct was to get Starscream free, bellowing for the big mech to wake up as he grappled with a thick wrist trying to loosen the grip. When it was clear that it wasn't going to give, and Starscream had clutched a hand to his chassis where the sparkling was kicking up a storm, Ratchet activated a circular saw and drove it deep into Optimus's forearm. Sparks spun up and the fist spasmed open, dropping Starscream to the floor and leaving Ratchet trying to restrain the fluxing mech.

"What in Pit's name happened?" he shouted over the crashing and groaning of metal, trying to force the damaged left arm down with one hand whilst the other reeled out the thick straps housed beneath the berth. _Ironhide, in the Medbay, –now-_.

"How the frag would I know?" Starscream barked back, climbing to his feet with a thick grimace and helping Ratchet hold the mech's arm down for the reinforced strap to go around. "I repaired a corroded part, he went into recharge and then this."

Ratchet's yelled response was drowned out by the sound of Ironhide bursting into the room. He'd have bolted to the Medbay even without Ratchet's abrupt summons, purely because of the thick black terror that had clawed him out of recharge from across the bond. In haste he'd simply taken Forge with him, the sparkling's screams once they reached the Medbay adding to the crescendo of distress.

"What the frag, Ratch'?" he bellowed, crossing to the opposite side of the berth to the medic and catching Optimus's free hand in the air. In close proximity to his sparkmate now his processor felt as if in a hot vice, spiking and throbbing with pain and dread. Squeezing Forge tight to his chassis, he looked to Starscream who had an arm wrapped around the mech's head and jaw trying to hold him still. "What happened?"

"He's fluxing, 'Hide," Ratchet snapped back, strengthening the weld on the wrist restraint before him whilst his other hand pressed down on the heating chassis. "I can't wake him. It's-"

Poetically cut off by the sound of the Prime's energy swords unsheathing, none of the mechs had time to call a warning before Ironhide's pained shout filled the room as he was impaled. The blade had sheared through his hip, almost severing the socket of his left leg entirely, which now issued forth molten metal and blistering energon. Though untouched, Forge screamed as Ironhide's grip on him tightened and the smell of burning protoform filled the room.

_Magnus, get your aft in the Medbay, _Ironhide shouted across the comm. as Ratchet rushed to his retreating side. The joint failed utterly after a few steps and he went down hard, Forge barely being swept up from the crashing mech by the medic as he too got to his knees.

"I need to patch this now," Ratchet called over a fresh bellow of roars from Prime's engine, the sound as expressive as a voice though the Peterbuilt's vocal processor was still silent.

Ironhide looked set to protest for half a second before he finally looked at his destroyed thigh and gave a jerked nod of assent, lying back and pressing his hands over his face with gritted dentals. The last thing this room nodded now was more sounds of pain and distress no matter how excruciating Ratchet's field-repair to stop the leaking was.

Ultra Magnus arrived with Tempest on his heels just as Starscream was sent staggering back to avoid a molten sword when the restraint snapped loose. The eldest Seeker landed with a hard wheeze, pressing a hand to his side as he got up on one knee. "Hack him, Magnus," he shouted as he got to his knees, his hands pressing against his chassis which was tightening with another hot flutter of activity. "Wake him up."

The soldier wasted no time in getting to the berth, but rather than reaching for Optimus's helm he instead leapt up to balance over the broad chassis, pinning the arm that had broken free down with his knee. A deft stab into the inner curve of the Commander's elbows reflexively jerked the energon swords back into place, but not before one of the long blades slammed into his side with enough force to sink and stick. Once the blade was retracted, Magnus punched Optimus's shoulder hard enough to disable it and curled to frame the battle mask in both hands, steadying the thrashing Prime's helm. He met Tempest's panicked gaze with bright optics, ignoring the molten metal trickling onto his thigh and down his leg. "You do it – he'll listen to you. Talk to him. Bring him out of whatever this is."

Glancing back to see Ratchet treating Ironhide's grievous wound and Starscream struggling to get to his feet after another armoured strike, Tempest gave an uncertain nod and laid his hands atop the shivering helm. Releasing a series of thin cables from his wrists, the young Seeker followed his systems' protocol for the invasive manoeuvre, prying beneath the panel and latching onto the heated processor beneath. The mech's mental defences were in tatters, wrecked firewalls hardly making an impression against his mind as he delved inside. When the connection was made, processor-to-processor with his Sire, his optics flashed wide with shock and his systems froze at the sudden dreaming world.

* * *

He was aware of duality – that the body he was seeing and feeling through was not his own, but his Sire's. The fear was very much his, though, immediately spiking as he took in the dark cavern of rubble and steel, and Megatron's body pressing into his chest. His right arm was paralyzed from damage he couldn't diagnose. Tempest felt the body shift and the pain in his side flared from the girder that punctured through chassis and thigh. It was what was keeping him down alongside the Decepticon's weight.

Megatron punched a hand into his still-working shoulder, over and over, until he broke through the armour. His Sire was silent, though Tempest moaned at the pain as he felt it as his own. Finally the Decepticon leader pulled out a fistful of motor servos, rendering the limb useless. A chuckle as the trapped mech strained against the girder again, before Megatron's touch on his mask stilled him. "This will be a lot easier for you if you don't resist, Prime, but I will savour your pitiful resistance all the same."

Sharp fingers appeared at the seam of his dreaming Sire's chassis, and Tempest shouted as the plates were eventually, agonisingly pried apart. He felt a flicker of surprise and parts struggling to reseal to conceal the Matrix, and his vulnerable spark secondly. His Sire's voice was strong and level despite the circumstance: "What are you doing, Megatron?"

A slick chuckle as the Matrix was granted a fleeting touch before both hands slid deeper, pushing between neural and coolant lines as the clawed tips edged against his protoform. "Instigating your undoing," came the crooned reply, alongside scratched neural lines and parts being more aggressively coerced and forced into moving aside. "You're going to make the weapon that defeats you for me within your own body." Red optics caught his gaze, simultaneously victorious and hungered. "You couldn't do anything else."

Curdling heat suddenly flooded his body, angry but wary now in equal measure. There was also a shadow of arousal from the direct stimulation that couldn't be completely suppressed, though he could feel his Sire trying desperately to curb the feeling. Though it wasn't explicit there was a sense that no one had touched his protoform, and certainly not his spark chamber, in a very long time, and the unfamiliarity heightened every flick and tease now. His Sire's voice, when it came again, had lost its certain edge to some foreign quality that made Tempest nauseous to his tanks. "Don't do this."

Megatron's angular head tipped as he grinned, exposing slick jaws that further radiated hunger. "How can I not when you're this ready for me?"

The bulky mech shifted into his lap, gripping the girder as a brace. Their shared vision turned static as the metal twisted, clearing again just as Megatron's open chest plates met his. A thick, oily swell of energy curled around his spark, penetrating every corner of his being with a sickly heat. His body acted against his will, unable to resist the tingling in his energised lines despite the hatred and shame that filled him. His spark chamber opened, emitting a watery glow between them before Megatron pressed fully into him. Automatically the face mask shunted back, and he was too dumbfounded by shock to force it back into place.

It hurt. Primus it hurt, running on and on as Megatron gripped his throat and began to push something between them. Into his Sire's body. A haploid spark. Him. After long minutes of groaning metal and split-line sparks, bitter overload carried it the rest of the way into the violated spark where he felt it latch. Felt the hot slither from Megatron's body bind to his Sire's spark chamber, sadistic and unwanted. The sensation had caused his mouth to open in shock, now plundered by teeth and glossa as the mech seized upon him in a patronizing mockery of human desire as a final humiliation.

A flicker and the scene repeated itself in fragments of image and sensation, finally returning to the start with mounting feelings of dread and inevitability.

* * *

He came back to himself purging without realising he'd started, kneeling beneath the head of the berth with Starscream gripping his shoulders from behind. Immediately Tempest scuffed back, vents heaving, and some corner of his processor noted that the hack had been enough to shatter the flux's hold on his Sire's mind. Optimus lay still on the berth above him, though Magnus was not abandoning the opportunity to strap him down should it start again. The big mech didn't look at him, his brow furrowed as he pulled every strap across and fixed them without mercy across the Prime's body as his own wound continued to seep.

The silence in the room roared in Tempest's finials, and he jerked his head about to reaffirm his surroundings. Ironhide lay nearby on his back, biting back shouts of pain whilst Ratchet welded the major lines that had been severed within his shorn leg in a tourniquet. One hand spread clawed over his face, the other held Forge against his side with a forced gentleness that trembled with the effort. As the sparkbond emptied of the jagged echoes from the flux, the dark mech dropped his hand back with shuttered optics. Though he was far from reassured, the cessation of the involuntary mental assault was a relief in itself.

With the wound no longer critical, Ratchet sat back in the thick pool of burnt energon and looked to Tempest. Starscream voiced the question first, a hand still grasping the young Seeker's shoulder as he shakily began to get to his feet. "Are you alright?"

The Seeker's optics were fixed on his Sire, bright with grief and wide with shock. He didn't seem to hear the question thrown into the melee of the room as Magnus climbed down and took a hesitant step towards him, hand outstretched as the other pressed to his side.

"Primus, I…" Tempest cut himself off shaking his head and shuttering his optics, pressing his hands to his face. His wings tightened in on themselves, making himself smaller as he recoiled further from the berth. "Megatron, that bastard, he… Oh Primus, Sire."

With Ironhide stabilised Ratchet appeared at Tempest's side, optics brightening at the waves of distress echoing from the young mech. He looked to Starscream and spoke over an open comm., including Magnus in the transmission. _Get him out and calm him down. See if you can find out what he saw_.

Starscream's optics narrowed to crimson slits as he pulled the trembling mech into him. Tempest jerked with a cry but quickly gave in, allowing the elder Seeker's wing to cross over his own as his instinctively sharpened fingertips sunk into the top of his helm. Starscream's voice was level and matter-of-fact, though carried the tight dismissive undertone of wanting to be left alone with this. _He saw his conception, Ratchet, and Prime lied to all of you about how bad it truly was_. _No wonder he hasn't been recharging._

When shock registered on the medic's features, Starscream turned Tempest towards the door and quietly led them both out. A quick comm. confirmed that Thundercracker and Skywarp were out, meaning that the general Seeker's quarters were free to be locked down inside for however long this talk was going to take. His thin unseen smile, though victorious, was still grim as he looked at the hanging head of the young Seeker. Once more he reiterated to himself that this was a necessary evil to see through, for the sake of Tempest himself as much as his own sparkling. It was almost done.

Forge had only just stopped screaming when Ironhide was gracelessly helped up onto a berth, lying back on it purely because his body gave him no say in the matter and pressing the sparkling into his chassis. "What the frag is going on?" the dark mech hissed as Ratchet stabbed two vials of pain suppressant into his side, still running his thumbs across the sparkling's back in an attempt to soothe him.

Ratchet shook his head with a grimace and slammed down the emptied vials, crossing to Optimus in long strides and resting a hand on the red and blue helm. He felt Magnus's optics burning into him as he administered a strong tranquiliser to keep the mech in dreamless recharge until he decided to wake him, and when he finally answered his voice was forcibly flat. "A very bad flux, likely compounded by him not having recharged properly in so long."

A rumbled sound as Ironhide smoothed his hand down Forge's back as the sparkling finally quieted, though his attention was fixed wholly upon the unconscious mech. His hip and leg were entirely numb now, leaving his spark and processor free to obsess. "What could he have been dreamin' about to make him flux like that? He's never done this in centuries of war." The medic met his gaze soundlessly, Starscream's words communicated through a simple tightening of his face plates. One glance to Magnus confirmed that the tall mech had come to the same conclusion.

Ironhide's jaw clenched and he shook his head, pushing himself up on the berth with one arm whilst his backstrut trembled. "No way, Ratch'. We asked him. We thought that and he told us that there hadn't been a spark merge or anything like it. He would have told me. I'd have known."

Ratchet took up a rag from the workbench to dry his hands, a way to preoccupy them more than anything as his optics hardened. "I can think of nothing else that would make Tempest react like that, and Prime flux like that."

At Ironhide's grunted scoff Magnus touched his helm with a sigh and moved closer to the weapons specialist's berth. He'd shut off the leak and was now too preoccupied to consider it. "It's entirely possible that even with a sparkbond Optimus would have been able to hide this from you, for a time." He turned to Ratchet, optics narrowed in thought as he combed over what little he'd been told about the events surrounding Tempest's conception. "When he was recovered from the rubble, what were his injuries?"

"Matching what he said had happened," Ratchet replied flatly, folding his arms with raised shoulders. It wasn't that he refused to believe that Prime had lied – it was a fact of war that the higher ranks sometimes had to disguise facts for the sake of their troops. For morale. But he couldn't professionally accept that he'd allowed such an attack be hidden from him, and left his Commander to suffer simply because he hadn't pressed to find out the truth.

The soldier's expression behind the apt question implied that he wasn't going to get away with such a glib response, and he shifted his weight with softening optics as he summoned the scans in his processor. "Impaled and shattered femoral strut; sheared rib struts; destroyed and removed motor components in the left shoulder, torn lines in the right; hinge stress and lacerations throughout the chassis along with torn motor, energon and neural lines; damage to the spark chamber."

Magnus's head dipped fractionally, his optics unwavering. "Was his spark chamber forced?"

"Of course it was," Ratchet snapped back, lashing out a hand to motion to the unconscious mech. "There was a haploid sparkling attached to it – it had to be opened at least in part to affix it."

"You know what I mean," Magnus replied through his dentals, very quietly. Ironhide looked between both mechs, expression twisted but biting his glossa as the interrogation took place exactly as he'd want it to. The soldier took another step forward, hand raised. "Was his spark chamber forced as if from an assault, Ratchet?"

Pregnant silence for a long moment as Ratchet ground his dentals, finally shuttering his optics entirely as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It was my first assumption." Magnus nodded with a low sound and Ironhide led back as his arms threatened to give out. The medic looked between them both again, his voice regaining strength as he fixed on the darker mech. "But he absolutely denied it. You were there, Ironhide. He said there was nothing to avenge."

"And it didn't enter your processor that he might be lying to you?" Magnus snapped back, gesturing again to the unconscious Autobot Commander.

Feeling that he ought to come to Ratchet's defence, and vocalise an explanation behind his own part in this travesty slipping by, Ironhide twisted onto his side with a grunt of effort. "He wouldn't have any of it, Magnus," he bit out, his spark instinctively reaching for its mate and finding nothing but dark silence. "He said nothing like that happened and then we had his carrying Megatron's sparkling to deal with so we didn't push it."

"Then perhaps Prime was trying to protect you from the details of this transgression to protect Tempest," Magnus went on, resting a fist on the edge of the berth. "He may have feared how the Autobots would have treated Tempest if you knew the true nature of his conception."

"Slag," Ironhide spat, fingers tightening around Forge's small body as his processor reeled. "Tempest is innocent of all of it. We'd never have treated him any different if we'd known."

"Truly?" Magnus asked with an arched brow. "Now that you know that what had happened was a nightmare concealed from you, will you not see the defilement of your sparkmate every time you look upon Tempest?"

Ironhide sat up without any sound of effort, not needing to raise his fist or cycle his cannons to convey threat. Ratchet snapped a sharp click before things could escalate, looking between both mechs with bright optics. "This is precisely why he thought he needed to lie to us. We know now and we'll deal with it." A hand across his optics, collecting his processor. "I'll complete the repairs and then keep Optimus sedated until his systems have had the recharge he's needed, and for Starscream to talk to Tempest. The mechling is likely to crack after what he just saw hacking his Sire's processor, and I don't know which way he'll go."

Magnus didn't acknowledge anything the medic had said, a shrill buzz of indignant rage rising in his finials at this development. This feeling had come when he'd first met Tempest after he'd landed, discovering that he was Megatron's offspring immediately after trading fire. The hot well crested now, though, as he remembered the wrenching body trapped in terror and the stoic silence Optimus had maintained for years to keep this a secret until now.

"This must be avenged," he affirmed quietly, though not softly. At Ironhide's stare and Ratchet's frown, he took a purposeful step forward to the tune of his weapons systems cycling into life. "Do not confuse goodness with fooldhardiness. He would not lead us to retaliate against this because he would deem it selfish, but Megatron has gone too far this time to be left alive. We must hunt him. We must destroy him for what he did to our Prime, an act so heinous that Optimus himself hid it from us." He looked between both mechs, optics lividly bright and fist slamming into his open hand. "This is not about Autobots verses Decepticons – this is about justice."

Ironhide lay back silently, energon loss and the painkillers making his processor sluggish. Forge chirped against his arm, clutching at his Creator's chassis with a whimper. Ratchet bowed his head and examined the stained rag in his hands, biting his glossa. Since Ultra Magnus arrived, Prowl was no longer Prime's second. If Magnus decided to go to war in the period before he brought Optimus back online, then they would go.

Pit, once they got wind of why, there'd be no stopping them.

* * *

Sat at Chromia's crater with dawn threatening to the East, Starscream hadn't pushed Tempest to talk. Indeed he'd said nothing, merely stood watching the young Seeker pace angrily and fire into the earth with an agonised snarl until he'd dropped to sit on the ledge with his face in his hands. Half an hour passed before he finally spoke, his voice soft and high.

"Will Megatron try to do it again?"

Starscream's mouth quirked in a grimace, his optics narrowed and dim on the base of the crater. His chassis ached, the sparkling kept twisting and nausea seemed to have penetrated his processor as much as his tanks. The world seemed skewed, somehow. "I don't know. A sparkling from that… union wouldn't take now, though, because of your Sire's sparkbond with Ironhide." A sidelong look, granting an honest answer. "Whether or not Megatron knows that is something else."

Tempest nodded, claws tightening on his helm before he placed his hands in his lap. His gaze didn't shift. "He has to die."

Vents sighed in heavy agreement, the thread of relief going unnoticed. "Yes."

The young Seeker straightened, aligning himself to this idea that had come to make the only sense he could find. "I'm the only one who can do it."

A short nod, carefully measured. "Perhaps."

Tempest's head snapped to look at him, optics narrowed on what he'd perceived as doubt. "I won't fail."

Starscream arched a brow and sat back, running a hand across his chassis and trying to rub away an ache. "You'll have the Autobot's backing, I'm sure."

Shifting to his feet, Tempest began a slow pace, arms folded as he watched his guardian's response. "I get the kill. It's my right to kill him for what he did to my Sire."

Remaining seated with his legs draping into the crater, Starscream's voice was flat and solemn. "I'll make sure of it."

Tempest paused again, his expression torn. "You can't come with me. Your sparkling-"

"I can be close," Starscream cut in with a raised hand, his fingers curling to leave one raised in point. "But you can't mount such an assault in a day. We don't even know where he is yet."

"We'll find him," Tempest bit back with a hiss, slashing a hand through the air as his gaze burned a challenge into Starscream's face. "If I have to go out and torture every Decepticon I meet to do it, I'll find him and I'll kill him."

Starscream thought of Thundercracker finally making the hack and learning of the Decepticon's plans; of Ultra Magnus's expression when he came to the same conclusion that he'd handed to Ratchet and the rage that had quickly flooded it; and of Tempest stood over Megatron's body, weapons hot and optics sated with vengeance.

There was no way but forwards for them all, now, until the end. Standing, he moved to lay a supportive hand on Tempest's shoulder and offered a grimly confident ghost of a smile.

"I'm certain of it."


	4. Chapter 4

Pitch

_Chapter Four_

It was exceedingly useful that Bumblebee could drive himself as the enormous map that Sam and Mikaela were tracking their progress across covered the entirety of the dashboard and half of the windshield. The back seats of the Camero were piled with clothes, junk food, drink cans and an adapted cool-box of water and perishables that Bumblebee had linked into his cooling systems to keep refrigerated. It was a strangely comfortable home away from home, and they'd been having fun on this survey trip of possible Base locations.

Squinting at the map, Sam sought out the site they'd dismissed that morning to cross it off. "The forest was sort of a good idea. It'd have kept everyone hidden," he mused aloud, putting a black cross through the grid in biro.

"Yeah, but the nearest store is a hundred and eighty miles away and the Twins would just use all the wildlife as target practice," Mikaela replied through a grin, taking a sip of lemonade and pulling down the top of the map to see where they were.

"Good point," he smirked, adding _No coke, dead squirrels_ to the rejected coordinates. "Where next?"

"Site twenty-three," Bumblebee replied brightly through the radio, putting on a burst of speed when his sensors told him that the long road ahead was deserted. It had been nice to spend so much time driving with his favourite humans, camping under the stars and talking. Mostly gossip from the Base. "It's a sandstone quarry that was closed sixty-one years ago. There's a medium sized settlement thirty miles south and a truck stop closer, and the ground may be suitable for further tunnelling."

Finishing the can, Mikaela crushed it before placing the crumpled metal into the box behind the driver's seat. Errant litter inside Cybertronians could cause all kinds of damage during a transformation sequence. "Sounds like a winner."

"It's nice of Optimus to insist that the place is alright for us as well as you guys." Setting the pen aside, Sam reached behind Mikaela's seat for a can of coke and began tapping the top. Bumblebee wasn't fond of his interior getting sticky. "He didn't have to, you know?"

Mikaela lifted her gaze from the map, a hesitant lip drawn back between her teeth. She'd known that a week alone (aside from Bumblebee) with Sam would be the perfect opportunity, but the news hadn't been forthcoming. Now she'd had the opening handed to her, she hesitated for a few seconds before finally blurting: "Optimus asked me to live with them."

The teen's eyes widened as his brows migrated upwards. "He what?"

She sat back a little, forcing herself to speak to him and not the world whizzing by behind his head. "I'm not going to college, Sam, and I haven't got a shot at a real career. Ratchet's offered me a position as a trainee assistant, and I'll be paid by the government to help their studies and to be a kind of bridge between the mechanical and biological."

A beat before Sam finally blinked, looking to the can in his hand as if consulting for its opinion. "Wow. Mikaela, that's… Wow." He met her anxious eyes, his features more composed. "What'd you tell your dad?"

She shook her head a little, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "Nothing yet. Optimus is going to call him and say it's a paid internship. We haven't worked out the specifics yet. He wanted my firm answer first."

Sam nodded fractionally and scratched his head. Bumblebee's engine seemed particularly quiet, scuppering his momentary suspicion that the mech had known about this before he did. Finally his mouth tipped in a smile. "That's great. It's a job you'll love."

Her fine brows crept up, the corner of her mouth pulling warily. "But?"

He shook his head, expression earnest as he projected that he wasn't trying to sway her decision or make her feel guilty with his opinion. "But depending on where the Base is, you're probably gonna end up even further away from me. Yeah, I know we've got webcam, but you'll also be living somewhere that's practically got a bull's-eye for Decepticons hanging over it."

"Not necessarily, Sam," Bumblebee objected softly over Bob Marley's chorus, not wanting his charge to believe that the one he loved would be unsafe with them. "Between Ironhide, Ultra Magnus and Prime, not to mention the defensive armaments that have been planned, Mikaela would be as safe as domiciles with us." A suppressed digital chuckle. "And don't forget that you yourself were attacked at college, away from the Autobots."

"Safe as –houses-, and thanks for reminding me about robo-girl," Sam replied dryly, folding his arms at the twitching steering wheel. Sensing Mikaela's stare boring into him, he looked to her with a half smile, reassuring. "If you want to do it, just go for it, okay? I mean, how many people are going to get the opportunity to work side-by-side with giant alien robots who're also their friends?"

A happy squeak was all the warning Sam got before Mikaela's arms had enveloped him, planting soft kisses across his face. "Thanks for being cool with it, Sam."

He grinned against her lips. "Well, I am pretty cool."

She laughed but her sarcastic reply was cut off by the radio abruptly falling silent, the lounging music replaced by Magnus's voice. "Bumblebee, what's your current location?"

"Two hundred and eleven miles from site twenty-three," the scout replied, a note in his tone causing the humans to exchange a look. That it was Magnus calling had them all quietly perturbed, though it didn't necessarily mean anything.

Magnus's voice didn't hold the same charismatic lilt as Optimus's, and the hardness in it was all the more apparent now. "You're to return to Base immediately, as fast as you're physically able."

"Why isn't Optimus calling?" Mikaela whispered for them both, to which Sam could only shrug with a frown.

Bumblebee was already slowing for a U-turn. "On our way. What's up, Magnus?"

A second's delay, then, "are the humans there?"

Another silent exchange, and this time the mech's voice mirrored their building concern. "I'm in my alt form. They're inside. What's going on?"

"Get on your private channel."

A chirp and then silence filled the car, one which Sam and Mikaela felt they didn't dare break. After a few minutes the swelling bubbles of dread in their stomachs turned concrete when the Camero's engine whined, kicked and ultimately cut out, leaving them rolling at speed under the power of their own momentum.

Sam rubbed the steering wheel with the flats of his hands, his mind completely bypassing the childish worry that it may be more an act of mech-molestation than a gesture of urgent reassurance and comfort. "Bee? What is it? Come on, man, don't freak us out like this."

There was no response for a full minute, by which time Bumblebee had restarted his engine and slowed enough to double back on the road and begin the long drive back to Base. Mikaela remained silent and stiff in the seat, watching Sam trying to coax a response out of the mech. When Bumblebee finally spoke, the word was soft and thick with helpless grief.

"Prime…"

Sam felt the bottom of his stomach drop away, leaving a floating nauseous swirl that took him back to that awful time in the woods. When Prime fell.

Wide-eyed and fearing the same, Mikaela brought a hand to her mouth and spoke through her fingers. "Oh God, 'Bee. Sam."

"He's alive," Bumblebee cut in quickly, though without any of the relief the humans would have expected. After seeming to re-gather himself, he added in the same strange, hesitant tone, "but he's not well."

Words caught in Sam's throat as he felt the accelerator pedal sink down away from his foot, and he gripped the steering wheel whilst Mikaela tore the map away. "Talk to me, 'Bee."

"I-" An involuntary whine. "I can't, Sam. Please just leave me a moment." Then all the dashboard lights inside the car shut off in a pointed statement that the humans and everything else were going to be ignored for the rest of the journey.

To speak, to try and coax the mech out of this uncharacteristic silence, seemed as forbidden as to speak aloud. During the speeding drive back, Sam and Mikaela found themselves contemplating the most horrific plausible scenarios that could bring about a message that had had Bumblebee not wanting them to be there. Even when Prime had died, the scout hadn't withdrawn into this kind of silence. He'd grieved with Sam, with Mikaela, which now left them both wondering: what could upset the Autobot more than the murder of his Prime?

* * *

Ratchet's arms were slick with energon up to his elbows as he worked on Ironhide's leg. It was only the brute stubbornness of the mech to be awake to watch over his sedated sparkmate that had convinced him not to put him under and to fill him with pain suppressants instead. However there was only so much chemical inhibitors could do.

"Frag it," Ironhide hissed with a jerk, body twisting as he gripped the edges of the berth. "What're you trying to do? Hack it off completely?"

Ignoring the guttural complaints, Ratchet finished severing off the support strut that a bundle of neural lines had fused to and lifted the offending part out of the blackened wound. "The deal was that you could stay awake if you stayed quiet."

Grumbling something under his vents as Ratchet sunk his hands back into the gruesome split, Ironhide turned his head to lay optics on Optimus, still strapped down two berths away. "You sure it weren't just a glitch, Ratch'?" he asked quietly, thick brows knitting over darkened optics. "Warrior model or not, I've had 'em. Not many, but a few. You sure he wasn't just imagining it?"

Ratchet shook his head with a sigh, transforming the micro-components of his fingers as he continued to pick apart what could be salvaged from what would have to be scrapped. The immense heat of the Prime's energon sword had left very little he could repair from what remained. "Typically fluxes don't trigger such a physical response, and with how violently he was reacting…" He trailed off to meet Ironhide's gaze, hands pausing in their work. "You never had any sense that it was like that?"

Optics lowering, Ironhide found that he could only drag a response from his vocal processor when he lay back down and answered to the ceiling. "I don't know. We got together whilst he was carrying Tempest, so I never knew if he'd changed in… He weren't timid, but I always end up, on top, you know?"

Old counselling training from his earlier years filtered up into the medic's processor, and Ratchet brushed a hand across his optics in thought. He didn't notice the lash of energon left behind, and busied his hands again clearing out the last of the debris before placing the new support strut. "He was submissive to you."

Ironhide jerked as if shot, expression twitching though not from his leg. "Pit no, Ratch'… Maybe. I don't know." Strong arms pushed him up again, ignoring the white pain it sent shooting through his pelvis. "Frag it, we're sparkbound. I'd have known if there was something wrong. I'd know if I was hurting him."

"You'd also think you'd know why he hadn't had a full recharge in two months," Ratchet broke in evenly, no sting in his words. His mouth slanted grimly as he kept his optics lowered, undertaking the more straightforward task of wiring up the new joint.

There seemed to be nothing the dark mech could say to that, and they slipped into silence as Ratchet soldered and bolted the new components. It wasn't back up to spec, but it would serve for mobility until he'd fabricated the necessary parts. Reduced to fine-tuning whilst his processor hummed, Ratchet looked up the wide body. Though it needed saying, his voice was soft. "If what Tempest saw was true, if this was a rape-" Ironhide's optics shuttered, "- as we'd initially feared, then he may have succeeded in suppressing the memory up until this point, which is making the fluxing even more traumatic. The only way to confirm it would be to hack in and replay the memory to see for myself. But I won't submit him to that again. And I don't want to see it."

Thick silence drew out between them until finally Ratchet returned his optics to the task at hand. Working on the more cosmetic damage of outer armour, he began cutting away parts that had been melted and fused together, sanding off the rough edges.

"What are we going to do?"

An apt question, Ratchet conceded with a grimace at the soft inquiry. Deeming the repair as suitable for the time being, he moved to stand at Ironhide's shoulder and fixed him with a level gaze. "Well, Starscream's still off talking to Tempest but I doubt he's just going to want to gloss over the whole thing. Here, Magnus has taken the gun-ho vengeance route, and will doubtless be able to gather most of the Autobots behind him in an avenging assault. If not them all."

"Can't say I blame him," Ironhide murmured archly, azure lights darkening.

Ratchet shuttered his optics momentarily, uneasy with the brewing conflict that was rising on the back of this awful event that he still couldn't accept he'd allowed to go unseen out of pure negligence. He hadn't even begun to address the guilt of his own malpractice. Resting a hand on the dark mech's shoulder, he forced reassurance into his tone. "In the meantime, I'm going to keep his processor offline until his systems have had the recharge and recovery they sorely need, and you are going to let me repair you so you can be there when he wakes up."

Ironhide's mouth opened soundlessly as he wrestled with a fear he wasn't accustomed to feeling. An uncomfortable sound through his vents, uneasy. "And then what? What do I say?"

The medic smiled grimly, drumming his fingers in assurance. "You're sparkbound. You don't need to say anything. Just be strong for him, like you always have.

A tinny rattle jerked both their heads, optics fixing on the restrained mech. Initially he appeared still, but they quickly located the sound as coming from his hands. His broad fingers twitched, clawed as they sought purchase, until suddenly his body was straining at the straps in hard tremors as the flux took hold once again.

"I thought you were keeping him under," Ironhide snarled as he twisted to slide off the berth, following Ratchet who had immediately gone to the Prime's side. The pods that housed his energon swords had already been removed and placed on another berth, removing the biggest danger from being in close proximity to the fluxing mech.

"I was," Ratchet snapped back, releasing a catch on the underside of his wrist to extend a diagnostic line, quickly plugging the end into a seam in Optimus's temple. After a few seconds he cursed under his vents and shook his head. "His processor's a mess, 'Hide. I can't make sense of it." A chirp from the brief diagnostic scan sounded and he snapped his hand back. "Slag it, scrubbers are taking out the sedatives."

"Stop them," Ironhide barked, encasing one of his sparkmate's hands in his own, trying to hold the extremity still.

Ratchet snorted a humourless laugh, shaking his head as he began to draw up another vial of silver chemicals from the equipment tray at the end of the berth. "Overkeen scrubbers are the least of my concern."

The dark mech's shoulders raised, a whine signalling that his cannons were unconsciously warming as he struggled with a feeling of helplessness that he was far from used to. "Give him stronger slagging drugs then."

"I can't!" Shuttering his optics, Ratchet regained his composure with a hard exhale and relaxed his hand from where it had landed in a fist on the edge of the workbench. Setting his jaw, he ran a quick scan over the vial and finally brought it back to the berth. "I can't swamp his body with the amount of sedative it'd take to put him under completely. The system shock could offline him for good with the state he's in."

"So we just let it happen?" Ironhide asked, optics narrowed as his encapsulating grip on the mech's hand tightened. "Fragging watch?"

"Primus, of course not," Ratchet murmured with tangible distaste as he connected the vial, depressing the end to empty the mix into the mech's lines. "Small doses, as often as he starts fluxing will keep the levels of sedative in his systems from becoming detrimental and will empty his processor of the trauma. Once I've made some repairs I should be able to keep him in blank recharge for as long as it takes."

"Takes to what?" Ironhide uttered, head bowing and shoulders sagging as Optimus's body fell slack. The plates about his optics drawn together, he met the old mech's stare. "You can't fix this Ratch'." His gaze dropped a little, darkening. "And I can't either."

Ratchet came about the berth at the pained admission and laid a hand on the dark mech's shoulder, mouth set in a grim line. "This is not something that can be 'fixed', nor will it heal overnight," he replied softly before giving the broad shoulder a light shake. "But now isn't the time to worry about that. Right now, Tempest is an emotional wreck, Ultra Magnus is in charge and set for war and the Decepticons are planning Primus knows what."

"I know. You're right," Ironhide replied quickly, his tone resigned and weary. One hand still wrapped around the lighter mech's, Ironhide rested his weight through his planted fist on the berth and spoke towards Optimus. "What do I do?"

Withdrawing his hand from the mech's shoulder, Ratchet retreated to the workbench and began the mindless task of putting equipment away. "Magnus took Forge, didn't he?"

Appreciating the space, Ironhide rubbed his hand across his optics. "To 'streak and Luna. They'd have if there was a problem."

A thoughtful sound as Ratchet cleaned the tools of drying energon and burnt fluids in shallow trays. "How's your leg feel?"

Ironhide shifted his weight experimentally, grunting at the spike of pain before resting his weight back down his good leg. "Like hot slag, but it's fine."

"Then you do whatever helps," Ratchet affirmed flatly, pausing to nudge a stool towards the occupied berth with his foot. He met Ironhide's optics with a thin smile, the rag hanging damp and heavy between his hands. "You won't get underfoot with me."

The dark mech nodded fractionally, his head still bowed. He didn't take the offered seat. "Thanks Ratch'."

Prickling silence drew out between them as Ratchet finished clearing the berth he'd repaired Ironhide on and the workbench's tools, taking more time with it than was usual. Finally he rested his hands on the edge of the bench, back to the other mech as he allowed the weary grief and guilt to surface on his features for just a moment. "Hide. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Ironhide rumbled, tracing his fingers up from a pale hand across the long arm to rest against Optimus's neck. He felt warm air trickle out from the microvents hidden inside, chasing shallow eddies through the joints of his fingers. Touching a finial with the tip of his thumb, he glanced back towards Ratchet. "Can he hear me?"

Ratchet turned against the workbench so that he stood leaning against it, his hands flat on its gleaming surface. "Maybe." He wasn't sure, and he couldn't decide which definite answer Ironhide would want to hear. On the one hand he wouldn't want to think of his sparkmate as consciously aware whilst being subjected to all of this; on the other, it was the only way that Ironhide could possibly do something to help. Bringing a more prompting note into his voice, he nodded to Optimus. "Talk to him anyway."

Hand running down to trace across the battle mask, Ironhide found himself giving a soft smile. Sedated again and ignoring the straps, Optimus seemed to simply be in heavy recharge, nothing about his appearance belaying the trauma the fluxes were bringing. Cupping the strong jaw, his assured response came on the crest of a sigh. "I was gonna."

* * *

Lennox and Epps had already been on alert after Optimus had summoned them to an early meeting at the Base, but a fresh and unfamiliar wave of anxiety had flooded them the moment they had set foot inside the compound. Something was very wrong. The briefing room was deserted and with no sign of nearby life. The soldiers had waited before calling Optimus, doubly disconcerted when the line came up dead. They'd re-shouldered their kit and headed for the yard, immediately stunned out of their speculative chatter at the sight that met them.

Outside of battle, the vast majority of the Autobots gave off a friendly and harmless vibe despite the multitude of weapons their vast bodies housed. This morning, however, every bot was bristling in the watery light of the encroaching dawn. Even Bumblebee seemed more like a battle hardened warrior than the playful mech he usually was. It wasn't the almost familiar atmosphere of a coming battle, though.

The Autobots were gathered in a loose cluster about the Medbay protrusion of the Base. Their stoic watchfulness was thick with anger, and as the soldiers approached, Epps gave Lennox a wary sidelong glance. "What the hell d'ya reckon all this is about?"

Readjusting the strap of the gun on his shoulder, Lennox's mouth set in a grim line. "I don't know, but there're a few important faces missing. Including Optimus."

Epps gave a slow nod of agreement, speaking only a fraction louder than the sound of their boots on the asphalt. "Battle we didn't know about that went south?"

"Doubt it." Lennox paused, taking the collected bots in again. Optimus was the most conspicuously absent, along with Ratchet, Ironhide, Ultra Magnus, Starscream and Tempest. He wasn't quite sure who to approach. After a moment he lead them across to where Bumbelbee was stood with Sideswipe, the latter of whom was sharpening one enormous blade in long, hard strokes.

Bumblebee shifted a little, noticing their presence. Lennox frowned up at the unusually bright optics glowing out from the lowered battle mask. "Hey 'Bee. There was supposed to be a briefing this morning, but no one's seen Optimus," he broached, leaving the question hanging to see what the yellow mech would do with it.

"Magnus will brief you shortly in Prime's stead," Bumblebee replied softly, his gaze flicking towards the Medbay. It was all too obvious where the big mech was.

Now that they were amongst them, it became apparent to the human soldiers that deep remorse was at the root of the bots' collective aggression. A glance to their left demonstrated such a mix on Bluestreak's features as he stood with his rifle resting over one shoulder. Beside him, Arcee had her arms wrapped around her chassis, Skywarp resting his hands on her shoulders from behind with an unreadable expression. Prowl was iron straight and stiff-backed, his mouth a hard line that exuded even more cold detachment than usual. Even the Twins were silent, huddled and brooding with dark optics that held no trace of their usual mischief.

Epps took in the assembled bots again, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. It was blindingly obvious that they weren't just standing around, waiting. They were on guard, unofficially protecting the Medbay. "'Swipe, what's going on?"

The dark mech's response was growled. "A travesty is going to be punished." A sharp sound from Bumblebee cut him off, but there was no mistaking the tone of the alien words: shut up.

Though the Autobots were quiet, a hush still managed to descend when Magnus appeared from the old NEST briefing hander and began to cross the yard. Tempest matched the taller mech's stride to his left, flanked by Starscream.

"Oh, I've got so many bad feelings about this it ain't funny," Epps murmured, arching a brow in response to Lennox's peripheral nod.

"They look pissed," Lennox agreed quietly, though referring primarily to Magnus and Tempest. The elder Seeker seemed to be acting as his charge's shadow, unsettled but stoically watchful. Letting his gear slide to the ground and folding his arms, Lennox glanced back to the hanger for some clue, but no on else came out. "Wonder what they've been talking about."

A soft mechanical whine signalled Bumblebee kneeling down behind them, speaking quietly without taking his optics from the approaching trio. "Magnus called us all back and was already locked up with Tempest by the time I arrived. Everyone's been waiting and speculating, mostly."

"No one said what's happening?" Epps asked, ultimately copying Lennox and the bots in watching the mechs on the Yard.

Blue optics narrowed in an expression that Lennox couldn't decipher with the battle mask down. "Magnus told us enough – pit, it's already crossed all our processors at least once."

"What has?" Lennox hissed, finally meeting Bumblebee's unreadable stare with his own hardened one. "What the hell is going on?"

A flat click from Sideswipe and the yellow mech nodded over their heads before standing. Magnus had reached the threshold of the waiting assembly and now stood with a wide stance, as if on the crest of a battlefield. Starscream's gaze was clicking over every bot from across Tempest's shoulder, stood within arm's reach of the young Seeker. He looked tired.

Lennox had been watching the eldest Seeker with such intensity that when Magnus began to speak it made him jump.

"When I first arrived on this planet, I mistakenly fired on both Starscream and Tempest." He allowed a moment for that frank confession to sink into the silent crowd. Tempest remained motionless. "When Prime told me that he was Tempest's -Sire, I was wary, and when Ironhide inadvertently told me who his Creator was, I felt much the same as we doubtless all do now."

A low sound of agreement rippled through the bots, cut off by the sound of the Medbay doors opening and Ratchet stepping out, leaving the sliding panel open by a few inches behind him. The medic looked only at Tempest and Magnus, giving a curt nod before folding his arms and settling in to listen.

Magnus waited a moment, giving Tempest a sidelong look before the dark optics slid to meet his and he had the Seeker's consent to continue. He addressed them all again. "It does not surprise me that Prime wished to hide the truth from us all – even those closest to him. It is in his nature to protect the Autobots beyond the call of his duty, and to silently shoulder burdens that would make a lesser bot crumble."

His gaze dipped momentarily, vents rumbling with a sigh. "I do not believe he concealed this atrocious attack from us out of pride, though he would have been in his right to. Nor do I think that it was entirely shame. No: Prime did not allow this truth to surface because he knew that every Autobot would react exactly as we are about to now."

A shift in the assembly. Weapons locking. Vents spinning louder. Palpable, venomous anticipation.

Magnus began a slow pace, meeting each pair of optics with resolution. "By concealing the truth, by acting upon his belief that it would protect morale, Prime has allowed Megatron to go unpunished. He would not lead us with vengeance in his spark because he would perceive it as selfish, but vengeance is called for. Vengeance will be had, and it is Tempest's right to have the killing blow for the sin committed against his Sire."

Lennox shook his head a little, eyes wide. "Holy fuck."

Epps' mouth twisted and his hand tightened around the strap of the gun. "Oh, it is –on-."

Magnus stopped beside Tempest again and raised his hand to quiet the rising burble of noise. "Yesterday, Prowl and Thundercracker intercepted information that the Nemesis is approaching this solar system. It will remain waiting on the verge, out of range of any possible counter attack, and we believe that Megatron will have, or be in the process of constructing a space bridge to move his forces to the ship."

The young Seeker shifted fractionally. "The humans will understand as well as we do that if that happens, this world is fragged," Tempest continued from Magnus in sharp, even tones. Though his posture didn't convey the same ease with which the elder mech had addressed the small army, it was clear that he was entirely resolute. "My Sire was going to instruct that the space bridge be found to mount an assault, to stop the Nemesis. That order will still stand."

A flash in his optics, foreboding and bearing a chilling familiarity to a Decepticon in Lennox's mind, and Tempest straightened. "But this fight won't end when the spacebridge is destroyed and the threat from the Nemesis neutralised. It will end when Megatron is at my feet with his spark dead in my hand. Not a moment before."

Both soldiers shifted when Magnus fixed his gaze upon them, though continued to speak to the Autobots in general. "NEST will support us in this assault purely because of the danger the Nemesis poses, but we will not tell them of our underlying motivation. This is not knowledge of our Prime that we would wish the humans to have, and we will need to disguise his absence from Swanson until he is released from the Medbay."

"Ratch'!"

Magnus was cut off and the bots jerked to see the medic yank the door back open to Ironhide's alarmed summons. Not thinking much beyond a need to know what was going on, Lennox dropped his kit and bolted between multiple legs to slip through the doorway before Ratchet slammed it shut. Immediately he stopped short, moving back to the wall with wide eyes.

Optimus lay twisting and straining on a berth, held down by dozens of thick, wide straps that Lennox had never seen in use before. At his head, Ironhide stood curled with one hand cupping his sparkmate's guarded jaw and the other covering his optics, shielding the mech's head in his strong hands. His own optics were narrowed, bright and anguished.

Whilst Ratchet measured up a batch of a silver fluid, Ironhide spoke in rough, soothing tones. "It's alright, you're alright. Just me and Doc here. He's gonna give you summut to block it out now. Just hold on for me."

The tremor underlying the mech's contained struggles tripled in intensity, plates rattling and the berth groaning from the strain of holding the strong body still. Ironhide bowed his head deeper, touching their helms together as Ratchet appeared at Optimus's side and began injecting the chemical into his throat. "It's coming, love. It'll be over in just a few seconds. Be strong for me. You can bear it. He's not here. It's just me and the Doc. We'll stop ya dreamin', I promise. Just listen to my voice. Hold up, love."

"His processor will go dormant any second," Ratchet murmured, setting the empty vial aside and resting his hand over a shaking wrist.

Ironhide shifted his weight off his throbbing leg, shuttering his optics as his fingers traced short, slow paths across the battle mask. "Hear that, love? Few seconds and you can sleep again. It'll go away, and I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

Finally the terrible shaking eased until the big mech was still again, body sagging with a hot hiss from his joints as his systems fell slack. Neither Ratchet nor Ironhide moved, and Lennox found he'd been holding his breath.

"Why's he keep fluxing, Ratch'?" Ironhide's voice was rough with grief and anger, though not at the medic. "I thought you were keeping him under."

Ratchet shook his head with a sigh, hands tracing over the warm chassis in a scan. "It's not as simple as that, Ironhide. The partitions in his processor, the mental divides have been shattered by the fluxes and even moreso from the hack. I can't force him into recharge for long without compromising his systems, which are in dire need of repair anyway." He moved to the workbench and dragged a stool back, placing it behind the dark mech with a pointed look to sit. "I'm sorry, but until I can repair the structural damage this is the best we can do."

Straightening his freshly repaired leg, Ironhide kept one hand stroking the Prime's helm whilst the other balled in a fist on the berth. He watched Ratchet retreat to take up a slender tool from the bench. "If I reached out to him with our sparkbond-"

"No," Ratchet snapped with a dismissive swipe of his arm. "No fragging way. The last thing I need is two fluxing mechs strapped down whilst Magnus and Tempest goad each other into war." His features softened a little at the other's expression, his shoulders dropping with a shallow shunt through his vents. "I don't know how he would react to the sparkbound at the moment, particularly as he's not been reaching back for you with it. He may not be able to, and you trying could strain an already strained system beyond breaking point."

Ironhide nodded quickly, brushing one hand roughly across his shuttered optics as he rested against the berth. "Yeah, you're right." After a moment he brought his gaze back up from the floor, meeting the medic's weary optics. "You've been here going on nine hours now, Ratch'. Leave me with a few of them vials and I'll keep watchin' him. No telling how soon it's all going to kick off with Magnus at the helm."

The protest that Ratchet began to make was automatic, and he cut himself off at Ironhide's sternly raised hand and a renewed burn through his backstrut. Mixing up three vials of sedative, he left them ready on the tray and ran another diagnostic through the line in his wrist. "His systems are starting to reboot and firewalls are being repaired. I'll be able to begin making the physical repairs to his processor in about four hours."

"Get some rest, Doc," Ironhide murmured, resettling on the stool beside Optimus's shoulder. "And don't try ordering me to do the same."

"I know what a losing battle that would be," Ratchet affirmed gently with a wry smile, touching a hand to the mech's shoulder in passing as he moved towards the doors leading outside. He paused after opening it and nodded for the soldier to leave, sighing a little to himself with relief that Ironhide hadn't noticed Lennox bearing witness to their mutual feelings of helplessness.

* * *

In the rec room, Luna sat on one end of the oversized sofa with one leg curled beneath her, Forge nestled between her arm and chassis in uneasy recharge. She seemed half asleep, but Sam and Mikaela knew that the glazed detachment signalled that she was listening through her bond with Bleustreak. Occasionally the line of her mouth hardened, and she ran the back of her fingers across the sparkling's cheek.

Sat against the base of the arm chair with mugs of cold coco in their hands, the humans couldn't help staring in the hope that they might glean some physical cue from her. The only sound aside from the movement of breathed air was the soft _schluch_ and gentle _clang_ as Luna's unborn sparkling fidgeted periodically.

"Two hours," Sam murmured, hissing as he crossed his legs back over, rubbing his deadened left thigh to encourage blood flow. "When do you think they'll tell us anything?"

Mikaela shrugged, finally noticing the pale film that had appeared in her mug and setting the unsalvageable drink aside. She interlaced her hands between her raised knees. "I guess they were waiting for everyone to get back before they started talking. I think it was Skids and Mudflap we heard heading to the Yard a while ago."

Sam closed his eyes and tipped his head back into the base of the chair, fingers tight around the mug he'd long lost interest in drinking from. "I just wish someone would tell us what's going on with Optimus," he murmured softly, feeling emotionally drained from worrying since the Camero had received whatever news had caused his systems to shut down.

"I know. With 'Bee…" She trailed off with a grimace, looking to the teen's face in profile. As worried as she was about Optimus, she was also concerned for Sam who had fallen an uncharacteristically quiet as Bumblebee. "I've never seen him act like that before."

"You do not have to wait for your guardian to take you both home." The femme's lyrical voice caught them both by surprise, and they looked to see Luna regarding them with bright, focussed optics. Clearly the meeting was over. She tipped her head a little, expression as soft as her substance could allow. "Alternative transport can be arranged."

Sam straightened, meeting her stare with a hard one of his own. He knew full well that it wasn't her that he was angry with, but she was the only available target. "We don't want to go home. We want to know what's going on."

Her optics flickered in a blink, an action purely intended to convey emotion as opposed to any physiological purpose. Luna's hesitance and regret was implicit before she replied, "You're too young."

The fact of their comparatively miniscule life spans had never been used as an excuse to conceal things from them before, and both teens tensed at the dismissive now. "Maybe to you," Mikaela reasoned evenly, "but not for our kind."

When Luna's gaze dropped and it was clear that she wasn't going to answer, Sam tried a different tact. "Where's Ironhide? Is he in the Yard with everyone else, or is he with Optimus?"

A bare quirk of a smile, fully aware of what the teen was doing, and Luna sighed gently with her gaze on Forge. The sparkling was chirruping quietly in recharge, fingers flexing as he nestled more firmly into the warmth of her chassis. "With the Prime," she replied at last, not looking up. "Magnus brought the little one to Blue' and I when Ratchet needed the Medbay cleared."

It was an automatic response for Sam to get to his feet, underlying the momentum of his words with physical motion. "Is Optimus okay? I mean, has he been hurt?"

Luna looked up to the standing teen, brow furrowed and her mouth tipped. "Yes," she uttered softly, optics flickering again. "Some time ago. The nature of it has only just come to light."

Mikaela stood slowly, remaining motionless behind Sam as she actually felt the pieces slam together in her mind. A previous transgression – so traumatic that the emotional harm took time to take effect. A kind of post-traumatic stress that had affected the Autobot Commander so much as to put him in the Infirmary, watched over by his sparkmate and kept from visitors by Ratchet. Her stomach turning cool and hollow, she exchanged a quick glance with Sam over his shoulder as he came to the same conclusion. "This is about Tempest, isn't it?" she asked, though her tone was almost a statement. "And Megatron."

The femme didn't speak, but the tightening of plates around her optics and their flickered light was a clear reply. Sensing Mikaela stepping to his side, Sam took her hand and met Luna's stare mutually steadfast. "We want to help. How can we help?"

Luna considered that a moment before seeming to come to some conclusion with herself, finally nodding a little. "I will need to distract Swanson when the others leave." She tipped her head in inquiry, obviously not wishing to make the request outright. "Ironhide will likely still be with Prime, and every soldier is needed."

Sam nodded decisively, not needing to confer with Mikaela. "We can take care of Forge. We've done it before."

"Thank you, I'm certain he will be well cared for. I'll make sure there's a supply of purified energon and a feeding line for you to use." Optics turning unfocussed momentarily at another communicator, Luna unfolded her leg from beneath her and rose to her slime feet, cradling Forge within the bend of her arm. "The meeting is disbanding. Please excuse me: I need to speak with Bluestreak."

Watching the slim yellow femme leave, Sam continued to stare at the empty doorway though his thoughts were solidly turned inwards. When Mikaela squeezed his hand, he turned into her silently and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. There was nothing they could say.

* * *

I should be happy with this grim façade as a front, but exactly the opposite is true. I'd anticipated the grief and anger amongst the Autobots. Pit, I'd been relying on it to incite them into going after Megatron with murder in their sparks. But this curdling guilt since Tempest fled the Medbay… I've purged twice tonight, and long given up the lie to myself that it's just the sparkling. Apparently this conscience has taken a greater hold than I'd thought. Or I've come to care more for the involved parties than I'd counted.

My only true regret is Tempest, who was only meant to instigate the attack, not bear witness to the fabricated memory, and I'm wary to leave him alone for too long now. His role in this is not one I would choose for him if I had any other choice, but I know in my circuits that this is the only way to keep my sparkling safe. Mine and Ratchet's.

I feel his stare on me before I meet it, noting Lennox duck out ahead of his foot as he steps out of the Medbay to rejoin the other human near Bumblebee and Sideswipe. His optics are dark, edged with weariness and great sadness, and though he doesn't beckon me I know I should go. Tempest notices and gives me a short nod, effectively dismissing me from his side for the moment. I don't trust what he might do without me watching over him, but Magnus immediately steps closer and places a hand on his wing, allaying our mutual concerns. This briefing is mostly over. Only the divvying of duties to individual bots remains.

With Prime obviously stabilised and every bot standing sentry nearby, Ratchet leads us to our shared quarters and doesn't turn on the lights. He stands facing the berth with high shoulders and trembling fists, finally turning to sit on its edge with his jaw in his hand. I realise I'm hanging back, incriminatingly, and close the space between us, putting myself in close reach and sighing a little when he pulls me against him with one arm as anchorage.

I'd expected these ripples – the anger and grief washing outwards from the initial blow. I'd been counting on it, and between Magnus and Tempest everything is going to plan. I hadn't expected it to feel like this, though – this bitter and heavy. My spark feels as though in a vice, and the sparkling keeps squirming and scratching in response to my unease. I press a hand to her above Ratchet's helm, shuttering my optics in the dark.

"I failed him, utterly." The grieved confession comes on the crest of a trembling exhale through his vents, and my hand slips down to cup his helm. "I failed my Prime."

Ignoring how his tone and the almost-frightened grip he has on my body makes my spark clench, I force my tone to be even, though soft. "You didn't know."

"And why was that?" he explodes, his arm spasming around me in anger as he sits back, glaring up at me with hot optics. "Because I didn't press, didn't investigate, didn't do my fragging –job- like I should have. Because I didn't want to believe it – to make it true." His optics darken, focus shifting to the left unseeing as his features tighten. "And he let me. I suspected it and then accepted his denial without even questioning it. Primus, he -couldn't- tell anyone after we'd so easily swallowed the lie."

The sparkling kicks in time with another spasm from my spark, and Ratchet lays his head against my swollen panel over her, taking comfort. I bite my glossa, clench my jaw and feel my wings shift tightly before I can finally speak to him, running my fingers down his helm and neck to try to soothe away this pain which is entirely my doing. "You're in shock, and you're angry, but it'll pass. Once the threat of Megatron is removed and Prime's had some time, this'll get better." Our femme twists sharply against my spark chamber, a white pressure I do not vocalise. "Everything passes and we endure."

"Not everything is just shrugged off and forgotten, Screamer. Everything's changed," he snaps, shoulders twisting as his hands move to grip the edge of the berth hard enough for the metal to groan. I take a half step back, giving him room to vent this, his optics bright and accusative on me. "The Autobots will kill Megatron and get revenge, yes, but then what? They'll still be angry and grieved, torn because the best among us was... defiled in such a way. Hurt beyond all reason. And there'll be no one to kill for it, and no tangible symbol of it except from Tempest." He brings one hand to his face, pressing upon his shuttered optics and speaking through clenched dentals. "That poor mechling was already fragged up about where he came from, and killing his Creator isn't going to solve it. And Optimus and Ironhide..."

"They're sparkbound," I break in before he can finish the emotional pause. "They'll be fine." It occurs to me that it sounds like I'm trying to convince myself of that. I hadn't considered the long-term ramifications for Prime and Ironhide, largely because I thought I didn't care. They will be fine, though – the bond will help them to take care of each other. If they could begin a relationship whilst Prime was carrying Megatron's offspring, they can certainly endure this.

Ratchet shakes his head, optics narrowing and reflecting pale blue light off the window of my cockpit. "I can't stop him fluxing," he confesses, causing my vents to kick in as my spark throbs. It was only supposed to be the one flux. Before I can figure out how it went wrong, he goes on, "The sedatives are stilling his systems but his processor is so fractured I can't suppress it - just stop the shaking for a time. Ironhide doesn't know, and I can't bring myself to tell him."

He's not watching me and I allow my head to bow, optics shuttering as my hand returns to the base of his neck. I truly didn't intend this much harm. One flux: enough for Magnus or Ironhide to draw a conclusion from and be incited enough to act out vengeance. Though this is still travelling towards the right conclusion, the path there is horrifically twisted. "It wouldn't help anything for him to know," I assure, and find that I don't have to feign anything in my tone. "He'd only feel more helpless than he already does. As for Prime, you can't start those kinds of repairs like this."

"What do you suggest I do?" It could have come as a snapped retort, barbed with hurt and frustration, but instead he regards me seriously and asks me as an equal. As a partner. As a lover. Primus, this sparkling is affecting me more than I'd anticipated.

"Focus on the job," I finally reply, forcing strength into my voice so that it doesn't come out tenuous. "When you make the repairs, remember that everything outside the Medbay is incidental whilst you're in there. If you wanted, I could assist. Keep you company." The offer surprises me, escaping my vocal processor before I can stop it.

To my relief Ratchet shakes his head, though the corner of his mouth quirks gratefully. His hands trace my sides, his thumbs brushing over the sparkling. "No, you need to stay with Tempest for now. Primus knows he's already getting swept up in Magnus's wave."

I nod once, my voice flat. "I'll keep my optics on him."

"Please look after yourself with him," he adds with something close to earnest. His optics are wide and bright on me. "I can't..." Shakes his head a little, a helpless and humourless smile. "I don't want to have reason to worry about you and her as well. Things are hard enough already."

"I promise." In my circuits I mean it – all of this is for our sparkling. He wouldn't understand it, though – wouldn't accept that it would take nothing less for the Autobots to set out to destroy Megatron once and for all, not planning to return to Base until that objective had been achieved. He doesn't appreciated what Megatron is capable of doing to a sparkling. Capable of worse than he had me do, and he would do worse simply because she's mine. Ours.

She moves again, a gentle kick beneath Ratchet's hand but he doesn't smile in recognition of it. Instead he winds his hands about my waist, stopping when I touch his arms to summon his gaze. "This isn't your fault." His optics flicker, thick with emotions I don't want to catalogue. I don't know if I might love him. I didn't know if I ever could, and now I question if I'm deserving of it after everything. This sparkling alone is a greater gift than everything I'd ever hoped for. My hunger to overthrow Megatron never felt like this.

He pulls me back against him, holding me like a lifeline and bowing his head against my vents, seeking comfort. My own hitch, my chassis warming at the pure need for me that he exudes in this moment. The need for escape, to break away from cloying anxiety and frustration against my body is the same that came about when the necrosis took its first kill inside Luna's chassis. I'd encouraged it then, falling into our first spark merge on his office floor in affirmation that not everything was as bleak as it seemed. That there was still joy and pleasure to be had, even if it could only be found in the body of a lover.

I can tell that he needs more than that simple affirmation now, though. Since he accepted my want for a sparkling, and carried it through without question, I've been expecting exactly what he wants at this moment. His engine purrs a low note and mine answers unwittingly, my body moving into territory that my processor and spark cannot follow. Not now. Not with everything I've done, leaving aside the point that if we did he'd know –everything-.

"I can't bond with you."

His shock at my determining exactly what was on his processor is short lived, azure optics narrowing on me as he sits back, though still holding me close. "What more do you want from me, Starscream?" he asks with so much sincerity that it makes me ache. "We're having a sparkling. We look after each other."

"I didn't say 'never' - just not now," I reply, brushing my knuckles against his face. "You're looking for a point of good to hold on to, and that's not the right motivation for a sparkbond. You'd see that yourself in the end, as well."

He nods fractionally, optics darkening as he concentrates on getting his fans to slow. On impulse I cup his jaw in my hand and dip my head, sliding up into his lap at the same time as our glossa meet. His hands sweep down my waist to my aft, tucking me in tighter, and I feel his spark throb close to mine with more than desire.

I can't give him my spark, but I can give comfort. As much as it cools my tanks, it's something I know we both need and deserve right now.

* * *

"I don't accept it."

Thundercracker looked up from where he sat at the far end of the long briefing room table to the tactician's back as Prowl scrutinized the littered map. The papers in his lap documented every significant energy spike, attack on a government facility and refinery raid across the country over the last two months. They'd been assembling the marks and pins on the map from the swath of information piled on the table, combing for anything that might lead to the space bridge. Jazz, Skywarp and Bumblebee were already out following individual hunches, taking direction from this room as possibilities arose.

Though the Seekers were alone in their knowledge of the true reason this hunt was underway, the desire to locate the spacebridge as soon as possible was mutually sincere. If they couldn't find it until after the Decepticons had moved to the Nemesis, the resulting battle would be catastrophic for them and all the effort to safeguard Starscream's sparkling in vain.

The heated search was also keeping the Autobots occupied, Thundercracker knew – keeping them from challenging what they had been told. The mechs most likely to question the fabricated rape of the Prime were those who'd known of Tempest's Creator from conception: Ironhide, Ratchet and Prowl. Ironhide was keeping a vigil at his sparkmate's side and too consumed to even begin to query the possibility that the reason he hadn't known about Optimus's assault was because it hadn't happened. Starscream had tasked himself with keeping Magnus and Tempest focussed on revenge, though the pair were now largely stoking themselves and each other without his help. The former air commander was confident that Ratchet would be easy to manipulate in his guilt, and that his alterations on Optimus had been perfect and left no trace of foul play. Prime himself would be convinced.

Prowl was the one potential risk to Starscream's plan, firmly in motion but still far from completion. The tactician was not as subjective and vulnerable to his emotions as the others were, and had maintained close contact with Optimus throughout Tempest's carriage. If anyone was to realise that the Prime's behaviour then didn't match the believed violence of Tempest's conception, it would be him. Truthfully Thundercracker had been waiting for it, and hadn't let him out of his sight. The Seeker had mixed feelings about using Prowl's trust against him in this way, but the guilt was easily quashed. His knowledge of what Megatron –would- do to Starscream's sparkling –when- he got hold of it if he were left alive was certain and compelling.

To the mech's flat statement he set aside the documents in his lap. "You're feeling guilty, Prowl. Just like Ironhide and Ratchet," he relied softly. "It was to the three of you that Optimus first made the denial to, when he was carrying Tempest."

"My processor is not clouded by emotion at present," came the snapped retort. Prowl turned on his heel and moved down the table to lean back against it to Thundercracker's right. His expression was equally frustrated and perplexed. "There was no sign of any significant trauma in Optimus at all, and we've known him long enough to be able to tell if and when he's hiding something."

Thundercracker waited silently, knowing there was more. His gaze fixing on something in the middle distance, Prowl raised a gesticulating hand and began a slow pace alongside the table. "He hadn't chosen to conceive, yes, but he did choose and vehemently insisted on having the sparkling, which wouldn't have been the case if it had come about from anything other than a clinical, passionless attack."

His tone was rising, brow drawn tight with incredulity so great as to make the Seeker rise to his feet. Prowl went on without noticing. "Optimus was harmed, yes, but not violated to the extent that Magnus is postulating. We'd have seen it if he was. Something like that couldn't have just slipped past my notice."

Thundercracker had long experience with the power of inflection and subtlety, stepping close to Prowl's back and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's wholly reasonable that you didn't wish to see it," he suggested quietly, pausing when the mech sighed and brushed a hand across his face. "Such an attack is not easily imagined nor accepted, and thinking of the Prime being subjected to that. You're his friend, Prowl. His lie for what he felt was self-preservation was an easy one to believe. Everyone did until he began fluxing so violently."

There was a long silence as Prowl considered that, his body unknowingly relaxing back beneath the Seeker's hand. "We were preoccupied with his carriage," he conceded aloud, folding his arms again and releasing hot air through his slim vents. He stepped away and turned, speaking to an undefined point on Thundercracker's chassis. "And then when Starscream turned up and said he was defecting…" He trailed off, struggling with what was fundamentally an appeasement of his own guilt.

Thundercracker tipped his head with a slight smile, his tone soft. "As your friend, your commander and Prime, Optimus didn't want anyone to know about this grievance and he was skilled enough to achieve that." When Prowl opened his mouth to speak, the Seeker arched a brow that silenced him. "You told me yourself that you didn't know of Ironhide's feelings towards Optimus until he let slip in a moment of caring, and you've known him just as long and as well."

Prowl sighed resignedly, head dipping in a nod. "Yes, you're right." A beat and he seemed to regain his composure as suddenly as he'd lost it, meeting the Seeker's optics with a motion to the map. "Come on: we're not helping anyone like this and Skywap needs pointing at something.

"That he does," Thundercracker agreed archly, watching the tactician return to his map before sitting back down and pulling the stack of reports back into his lap. With Prowl settled back into scrutinizing the map, the Seeker concluded that the threat had been successfully averted.

* * *

After little recharge and a few hours of comfort resting against Starscream's body, Ratchet had returned to the Medbay to find Ironhide sitting on the other side of Optimus and carrying out a careful repair of the gouge that the medic's saw had made in his arm to get the Seeker free. That night seemed a long time ago when in actuality only thirty-seven hours had passed – a feeling likely echoed by all the Autobots who'd been recharging little and preparing vigorously for the upcoming battle.

With Optimus's processor still struggling to debug itself of whatever glitch was causing the flux to repeat endlessly, Ratchet was left with little choice but to continue to focus on the physical repairs until the system was strong enough for him to start work on the digital. He'd replaced a lot of fried circuits, melted connections and repaired the scorch-like marks left over from Tempest's hack. Now he had to wait until the mech's processor was in a fit state to be worked upon on a deeper level.

Scanning Ironhide's progress from a distance, Ratchet turned his attention to where the straps held the mech's body down. With a grimace he noted the damage Optimus's straining in flux had done – cracked plates and bent lines in thick bands across his body. Not serious, but something else that would receive his attention whilst the mech's firewalls were automatically rebuilt and data shuffled back into its rightful place.

Ratchet had detected the soldier on his scanners before Lennox arrived at the sealed Medbay doors, and straightened from his close scrutiny of the new wounds. Ironhide didn't look up, wholly focused on wrapping a graft sheet about a thick neural line that had been shorn in two. The tweezers were steady in his hands, halting when the medic touched his shoulder. "I'm going to get us some energon. I'll be back soon."

At Ironhide's vague nod, he crossed the room to the doors, keying them open and pausing again once he'd stepped out into the corridor. Lennox looked up at him, apparently surprised to be caught but not apologising for his presence. Ratchet considered him for a long moment before silently nodding towards the Medbay, waiting until the soldier had gone inside before resealing the door and heading towards the refectory. Ratchet knew full well that the dark mech needed to talk to someone, and it wasn't him.

Lennox approached Ironhide's turned back on the stool with caution, not sure what he'd come in here to say but knowing with a certainty that he must. He couldn't see much of Optimus on the high berth, but he could see from the tips of littered tools and the smell of diesel that they'd been working on him. To his surprise it was Ironhide who spoke first, not looking up from his work.

"You know." It was a question of confirmation, flat and emotionless as almost everyone now knew about this deeply personal grievance.

Lennox paused, suddenly awkward. "Yes."

When Ironhide's foot shifted out to leave his leg at a shallower angle, Lennox took the invitation and crossed the room to begin climbing up the thick armour plates. Ironhide didn't much care for humans being on his frame, but if his hands were busy and he did want to speak, his attitude was that they should make the effort themselves.

The dark mech waited until Lennox was on his knee before lifting his leg enough for him to clamber up onto the berth, coming alongside Optimus's arm. Lennox took in the long body, suddenly foreign now that Optimus was on his back and unnaturally still, before catching himself and turning to look at Ironhide. The mech didn't raise his optics from his work, gently weaving the silver strip though thick lines to embrace the raw neural feed. "You don't seem surprised," he murmured, leaving the inquiry hanging.

Lennox got the impression that they were speaking quietly so that Optimus wouldn't hear, and wondered if that was a genuine possibility or if the mech was simply acting as if it were in some mode of comfort. Moving close enough to see Ironhide's work and to study his expression, Lennox was still careful not to get in the way. "Honestly Ironhide, from since I found out about Tempest I didn't get how this could be anything other than an assault. I know for you guys it's different, but for us the only way to make a baby without medical intervention is through sex. And sex is sex, whether it's consensual or not. And when it's not consensual, it's rape."

He frowned and bowed his head, disbelieving that he was even having this conversation. But it had been plaguing him, enough to intrude on Ironhide's privacy further to his friend's need to talk about this. "'Hide, he's had Megatron's kid. You must have wondered."

Ironhide leaned away from him to pick up another sheet of thin, strangely soft metal and position it with the tweezers. "I asked."

Folding his arms, Lennox breathed a hard sigh. "And he said no."

The nod was implicit as his optics narrowed. "Even after we bonded I didn't know."

Lennox shifted at the thick emotion so obvious in the tone, something that someone who didn't know Ironhide well would have mistaken for simple flatness. "You can't blame him for hiding it from you."

"I blame myself for not seeing it. For letting it go on for so long," Ironhide corrected quickly, though his voice didn't rise. His mouth quirked as his jaw clenched, but he gave no other outward indication of what was passing through his processor.

A step closer and Lennox was no longer at all interested in what the mech was doing with his hands. "It's what he wanted."

Ironhide snorted through his vents, shaking his head. "What he wants aint necessarily what's right."

"And this whole attack that's going to happen now?" Lennox went on quickly, brows arching. "What would Optimus think of that?"

A beat passed before Ironhide conceded, "he wouldn't want the Autobots to go into battle on his behalf like this." Pausing with the graft half wrapped around the frayed neural line, the mech met his gaze. "But this can't go unpunished, Will. We can't draw a line under it and forget it happened, not with Tempest this upset and Optimus…" Optics shuttering, Ironhide seemed to regain himself and refocused on the repair job, making minute movements with the long tweezers. "It's bad enough that this is gonna haunt him. I can't have Megatron alive as well."

Thick silence fell between them, somehow muffling the sound of the mechs' engines to Lennox's ears. He felt the pain in that statement as clearly as if it were a pressure about his throat, a rare confession of feeling that was even more impacting coming from Ironhide. The soldier rubbed his eyes, briefly wondering how he would feel if he were in such a position with Sarah. "You've got my backing - all of NEST," he announced firmly. "Our official briefing was to destroy the space bridge as a pre-emptive strike to stop the Nemesis from becoming a threat. No one knows about Optimus outside of me, Epps and you guys."

To his surprise Ironhide shook his head. "You will not be needed in this battle."

"Doesn't matter – we're there," Lennox affirmed, tipping his head as a thought occurred. He glanced over Optimus again, and the straps that had been firmly in place since the meeting in the Yard. Obviously the Autobot Leader wouldn't be going into this battle. "Are you?"

"Yeah, but only to stop Tempest," Ironhide replied softly, a confession that he would only make to his charge. He and Lennox had spent a lot of time together outside of battle, standing guard outside of the soldier's home when the threat of individual Deception attack was high. They had an understanding of each other that the mech hadn't experienced with any other human, and certainly not cultivated. Peculiarly, it was to this alien man to whom Ironhide felt he could confide now. "He can't murder his Creator, even if it is Megatron. Even after all this. That's gonna short his circuits worse than everything else that's happened."

Lennox's shoulders tightened, recalling that meeting in the Yard. The emphasis on this being Tempest's decision and his right to do. "'Hide…"

Ironhide set the tools down with a slam, staring down at the human with bright optics, though not with anger at him. "It burns what that fragger did to my sparkmate – don't think that it doesn't, Will," he bit out through his dentals, vents whining and warming. Seeming to gather himself, he sat back on the stool with a hard sigh, optics dimming and softening at the edges. "But I don't care that he's Pest's Creator. I love that mechling just like I do Forge, an' I don't want him having that kind of kill on his spark when all that's called for is Megatron's death – by anyone's hand."

It was a fair point, Lennox accepted, and not one that he'd heard anyone vocalise so far. As big and powerful as the Seeker was, Tempest was still only an infant – by almost all standards. His sheer intelligence overshadowed his underdeveloped emotional side, though, and it was what was allowing him to give such reasoned arguments alongside Magnus as to why it should go ahead. "Will you do it?" he asked at last, not flinching from Ironhide's steady gaze.

Looking down to replace the armour panels now that the grafts were done, Ironhide answered with a thin, determined smile. "Not right away – I'd want him alive for a while. Draw it out."

The implications of what that would involve were palpable to Lennox's ears. "This is gonna be ugly."

"Was from the start," Ironhide rumbled, moving to offer a hand to the soldier to let him down. The conversation was over. "But it is what it is."

* * *

When Ironhide had finally slipped into recharge, Ratchet hadn't woken him to move him onto a berth, simply moving his tools out of the way and leaving the mech with his helm pillowed on one arm, hand covering Optimus's. He'd estimated that the mech had had perhaps four hours of recharge before the Medbay doors opened behind them, and he turned on the intruder with a scowl that was ultimately short lived.

Whilst Magnus lingered back respectfully, Tempest crossed the room with quiet steps to stand at Optimus's side, opposite Ironhide. "How is he?"

Ignoring Magnus, Ratchet moved to stand behind the dark mech still slumped in recharge, mindful of the volume of his voice. "Resting now. I've repaired the physical damage and stopped the fluxing. I wanted to give his systems a few more hours before I brought him online."

Tempest nodded a little, optics dark, and lay his hand on one broad arm. "It'll be over when you wake, _Sire_. I promise." Looking up again, he met Ratchet's gaze with a stare hardened enough to make the medic shift. "I want you to keep him under until the fight is over. He'd only worry, and he needs to sleep."

Ratchet raised a thick brow and crossed his arms, uncaring that his retort was loud enough to rouse Ironhide. "That's hardly your call to make. I'm his medic."

"And Tempest is a Prime," Magnus intoned flatly, moving to stand alongside the young Seeker. "Further to that, I'm in command in Optimus's stead and he has my backing. No good would come of waking him now, and better he receive the care he needs."

"'Pest's got a point, Ratch," Ironhide added as he pushed himself to his feet. "Not to mention that it'll be a strain on the bond if he were awake, and I can't stay here for the attack."

"Madness," Ratchet muttered with a step back, optics narrowed.

"Ratchet," Tempest asked, his gaze more uncertain now and pulling at the medic's spark hard enough to still him. "I'll need my Sire's swords for this. I want to use them. Would you install them for me?"

Surprising himself, Ratchet didn't hesitate before nodding his assent. He motioned to the neighbouring berth for the Seeker to sit down. Tempest wanted to use his Sire's weapons to kill his Creator, he concluded. As a kind of honour. "I can have the pod sheaths wired up within half an hour."

"Thank you," Magnus said for them both, clearly relieved and grateful that he hadn't had to make it an order. "Ironhide, Skywarp located the spacebridge by a harbour a few minutes ago. It's not been used yet but the Decepticons are gathered."

The weapons specialist stood with purpose. "Comm. everyone to get to the armoury. 'Pest can meet us there and we'll go when he and the Doc are ready."

His optics dipped back down to Optimus, and the mechs unanimously withdrew without a word. Ironhide brushed his sparkmate's jaw, one hand encasing Optimus's as he trailed his fingers to touch the central point in the broad chassis over his spark. There was no doubt in him that he'd return from this battle, a blind optimism that he wasn't used to. He was coming back because Optimus needed him to. Sending a light, loving charge into the mech's spark, Ironhide retreated from the berth and left expecting Magnus to follow.

Retrieving the thick pods from which energon could be projected within a variety of sharp, heated shapes, Ratchet set them down beside Tempest on the berth and turned the Seeker's arm out to open the panel. "I'll have the larger one that doubles as an axe where Starscream's nul ray is on your model," he explained, beginning the complicated process of unbolting and reorganising the workings in the mech's arm. "I'll also give you a copy of your Sire's upload so that you can use them."

"Thanks," Tempest replied quietly, watching the medic work.

When the space was ready, Ratchet took up the larger pod and began to connect it to the appropriate lines. He didn't look up nor falter in his motions. "Tempest, have you thought this through? I mean, really? The outcome of this battle cannot-"

"You can't understand, Ratchet," Tempest broke in calmly, factually. "No one here can understand my position. The only reason I'm here is because Megatron raped my _Sire_ in the hope of using me against him."

The medic glanced up, grim, but continued his work. "He loves you, Tempest. He'd never want this for you."

"I know." Tempest flexed the lines in his arm under Ratchet's silent instruction, retracting the pod into place and lining its opening so that the weapon could appear and mould cleanly. He smiled a little, though sadly. "I've never felt resented for where I came from, and I know I can't change what's happened. But I can make my choices now to control who I become. I rejected the Decepticons and I reject my Creator, whom I will punish for what he did to my _Sire_. For the pain he had to keep from me so that I'd never feel that he didn't love me."

The second pod was quicker to install, and once the controlling programming was loaded Ratchet stepped away to allow Tempest to extend the swords. He felt their hot weight off his hands a moment before sheathing them back and sliding down off the berth. Meeting Ratchet's uncertain gaze, he touched a hand to the medic's shoulder. "I was always meant to be a weapon, but I can choose who I'm a weapon against. And what I act for."

Retracted the microtools back into his hands, Ratchet gave a curt nod that failed to convey a fraction of the myriad of emotions clawing in his spark. Touching the altered panels, Tempest gave a small, thankful smile before retreating from the Medbay to meet the rest of the bots.

* * *

Bluestreak was loading rounds into his rifle when Tempest arrived, the storage compartments on his body already fully stocked to feed the powerful weapon. Arcee was adjusting energy settings on her arm beside Skywarp, who stood with a cube of straw coloured fluid giving off thick fumes. Standing behind Starscream whom was seated on a munitions box, Thundercracker was also drinking jet fuel whilst Ironhide checked over his weapons with quick, experienced hands.

"I say we throw some oil out into the bay first," Mudflap announced amidst a spirited discussion with Skids and Hotrod near the back of the comparatively small hanger. "Then we set fire to it to really scare the slag out of those Decepticreeps."

"I don't think incinerating the wildlife is the point," Prowl intoned flatly as he moved past carrying a tall black case. "And the Decepticons will be alarmed enough without the assistance of combustibles, I dare say."

"Still taking my explosive rounds," Bumblebee announced amidst a chorus of agreeing murmurs.

"Been looking forward to trying one of these babies out on Soundwave's head," Jazz agreed as he rolled two thick cartridges about in his palm. "Gonna be a hell of a firework show."

"Everyone gets a plasma bomb too," Ironhide barked over the din, moving to the sealed cabinet that ran the width of the end of the hanger. Pushing his hand inside the tunnel lock, he splayed his parts as a key and twisted the door open. Inside were amassed weapons and ammunitions that he was unwilling to use in battle on a regular basis. Inhumane, merciless weapons that inflicted unnecessary harm where something lesser would have done the job just fine. "Take yer pick of the rest. Good chance we won't be needing this stuff again."

"Senior officers take the ranged weapons," Magnus instructed as he came to Ironhide's side, joining the mech in scrutinising who took what. "These are to be used largely as a deterrent. Wiping out the Decepticons isn't our goal. Only to force their retreat from the spacebridge and to clear a path to Megatron. Watch out for NEST soldiers in the field – we don't want any human causalities if we can help it."

Taking an offered cube of jet fuel from Skywarp, Tempest moved to stand beside Starscream and put a querying hand to his wing. Starscream glanced up with bright optics but remained silent, one hand moving to his tight chassis to indicate the source of his discomfort. The young Seeker nodded, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze before looking to address the room at large. As if they'd been waiting for it, everyone fell silent.

"This is a voluntary mission, and one that my _Sire_ would be too selfless to condone himself," Tempest began, stepping into the gap that had been silently made for him and meeting each bright pair of optics that was set on him. "I ask this of you as his son, as the product of Megatron's attack. He'd hoped that you would turn against me because of where I came from: he'd never have imagined that I would lead you in an attack against him." A hand moved to cover the larger of the concealed pods in an unconscious action, his clawed fingers tight against his armour. "Thank you for your service to my _Sire_ now, your Prime and your friend."

Magnus clicked a last weapon into place against his thigh and looked over the assembly, confirming that they were all ready. The whine of a transformation sequence preceded his words, and everyone followed suit in collapsing their bodies into their alt forms.

"Autobots, roll out."

* * *

"This is madness," Ratchet murmured aloud, more for himself than the mech in recharge before him as the sound of dozens of engines passed outside in a powerful roar. All four Seekers boomed ahead, doubtless to scout the area anew and to await the main forces.

Events had turned horrific in Optimus's name, and the medic was confident that this wasn't what he would want. Red Alert was at the monitors keeping watch of the Base whilst the battle took place and Luna had gone to meet Swanson. He was expected to follow the Autobots into battle and leave the Prime firmly sedated until he got back to keep him safe. One hand over the panel that housed his circular saw, Ratchet considered the dark optics and finally felt the elastic pressure that had been building in his chassis snap. It was safe to bring him online, he decided, though the straps would have to stay in place should he trigger another physical flux.

With the teardrop probe hovering over the mech's throat, Ratchet grimaced anew at the risk and determined to proceed slowly. Connecting a line from his wrist into a neural feed in Optimus's neck, he brought down the probe and managed the instant activation so that only the Prime's base processer came online. Communication would be gentle, coming in glyphs, but it was less potentially traumatic.

-Where is he?-

With no intonation or emotion, Ratchet felt himself at a complete loss as to how to respond to the three words that surfaced in Optimus's processor. 'He' could mean Ironhide, the medic speculated, seeking reassurance from his sparkmate after the ongoing psychological ordeal. 'He' could also mean Megatron, and this was a panic-induced question stemming from the nightmare that had been rampaging over and over through his psyche. There was no way of knowing without asking, and he half dreaded the answer.

- Where's who?-

A beat passed before the answering glyph appeared.

- Starscream.-


	5. Chapter 5

_I know I said last time that this would be the final chapter, but there's still a lot to write and it's getting perilously close to 30 pages now… So, apologies for leaving you hanging on for a conclusion once again, but it's going to take me a while to write the last instalment and I figured it'd be nice to give you something to read in the interim. _

_The rating is particularly salient for the beginning of this chapter, so please read with caution._

* * *

Pitch

_Chapter Five_

I've always loved flying into battle. Second only to working on something challenging and promising in the lab, flying high and fast into a fight where I'm to be the most feared aerial presence gave me an exhilarated kind of peace like nothing else. Today, flying in a slash formation high enough over the curvature of the planet for the groundpounders to keep up, I cannot conceive of a time I've felt worse. Certainly crawling back to Megatron following defeat after defeat was a foul degradation, but it's nothing compared to this cyclone of guilt and fear twisting about beneath my ice-filmed parts. I've put myself at the back because I'm barely able to concentrate on following my wingmates, let alone plot a direction.

As we fly on in thick silence, I hug close to Tempest's vapour trail and focus on imagining what Megatron would do to my daughter.

Worse than what I did to the sparklings at the nursery, no doubt. Those were practical, economic killings – as merciful as possible, I dare say. Necks and chassis crumpled in my clenched fist. It wasn't that Megatron didn't want to get his hands dirty killing the newsparks himself: there was just no pleasure in it for him. He preferred to tear apart the ones that could run and scream to decorate the central chamber with a macabre pile of their body parts whilst I progressed through the nurseries.

He would take pleasure in everything up to the point of killing her, and he'd put that inevitability off for as long as possible. Megatron would kill her, of that I have no doubt, rather than raise her against me. Primus forbid he leave the hope of her life, of her breaking away for herself no matter how twisted he made her. Claws and teeth and a myriad of clinical implements that I know full well the capacity of would be thorough in the torture of my sparkling.

At the very start of the war, there were Autobot horror stories of sparklings being tortured in front of adult bots to get information. Parental or otherwise, the screams of an infant have an almost universal effect. Dismissed by many as too obscene to be possible, they were actually true. It was a proficient method of gaining information, and one of the few types of interrogations Megatron would conduct personally. Prime himself, high-profile defectors and sparklings.

He'd put his thumb through the space where their interface panels would go to start with, summoning out a noise that put everyone's dentals on edge. Defile the child to horrify the elders, then get on to the actual business of hurting them.

After that first puncture that dug out a plug of barely-visible lines and soft parts, the most mundane tactics seemed exceptionally awful because of the size of the body they were inflicted upon. Systematic breaking of the joints by pinching them flat, leaving the neural lines intact and under unforgiving pressure. Peel off the thin dermal plating and sprinkle fine drops of High Grade across the exposed protoform; small enough that the fires burned themselves out whilst the body flopped. Megatron made a point to leave the optics lit, and to point out that they were lit. That this was a living being lying smoking, deformed, twisting in feeble agony and dying, with the promise of a report performance with another sparkling if they didn't start talking –now-.

Megatron would do worse to mine, though grotesquely it's still within the scope of my imagination. And if I weren't alive to watch it and he was cheated of that audience, he'd pray to Primus for ways to outdo himself just to spite me.

Everything he would do to this sparkling cannot be compared to what might happen if this plan, somehow, goes wrong. As long as Megatron dies, I don't care if Tempest finds out what I've done; if Prime banishes me and Ratchet leaves me a clinically elected micron from death. She would live and be cared for, even if by Thundercracker and Skywarp and not her progenitors. She would be loved and without fear. Frag them all to the Pit if that's what it takes to keep him from mutilating and burning and murdering my daughter.

_How's she doing, Scree?_

So consumed in my litany of oaths and pornographically detailed images of torture, I don't notice Tempest drifting back to fly alongside me until he's close enough to disturb my current. He's taken my silence to mean discomfort. Half right.

_She's cramped but managing_, I reply evenly, feeling an aptly timed shift ripple through my chassis. _With this alt form it's a relief she's not very large._

He hums to himself, a forced childish lightness in the face of a battle he plans to culminate with the killing of his Creator.

Primus, he's so young.

And I'm supposed to be his guardian.

Tempest rocks on his wings as we shear through the top of a cloud, flakes of ice melting and spraying off his thrusters. _Have you and Ratchet picked a name for her yet?_

There's a smile in his voice, high and light. He doesn't want to think solely about the battle. Like his Sire, he wants to go in with thoughts about the future. For sanity. For hope. For something to fight for.

_No_. A beat and I force my tone up a little. _Why? Have you got a suggestion?_

_Uh huh, and I've really thought about it and I think it's a really good name. _He flies closer to me now than any human pilot would, sane or otherwise. His tone turns hesitant. _I mean, you don't –have- to use it if you don't like it, but it's the absolute best name I could come up with._

A put-upon sigh and I do a lazy half-pipe as if to scrutinize him with an invisible pilot in my cockpit. _Go on, then. Astound me._

His running lights flicker with what I know full well is pleased excitement. _Tinkerbell._

I can't help it – I bark a laugh down the comm. that may very well have been hysterical, but slag it all. _Tinkerbell?_

Rather than seeming dejected, Tempest flashes his thrusters to defend it. _Well, she's a girl, and she's gonna be small and probably a Seeker, and between you and Ratchet she'll have a pit of a temper and a determined streak… And it's pretty._

_I am not naming my sparkling after a moody Disney fairy._

Now he does look dejected, wings, somehow, sagging fractionally. It's enough for me to mentally roll my optics. _I'll see what Ratchet thinks._

Of all things he –squeaks- before tipping to fly inverted over me. _Thanks Scree!_

_ETA twenty minutes_, Thundercracker breaks in across the comm. _ Game faces on_.

Tempest shifts back into formation with a grace and economy of movement that I can't help but be impressed by. He opens a comm. channel to me again but says nothing for a full minute. I don't push him.

_Scree, what if this doesn't work?_ he asks quietly, the fear one of failure, not of losing his life. _What if Megatron kills me first and no one else can do it? I promised Sire._

_He'll die_. I say it flat and hard and certain because there can be no other outcome for any of us. _He will die and you'll come home with me to Prime._

A chirp to precede a transmission to everyone from Magnus, doubtless final plans and Autobot pep talks, though with a Decepticon-esque twist if the weapons in some of their holds is anything to judge by. Tempest turns silent and attentive.

The cloud thickens again, enough to conceal us individually though my sensors can feel the Seekers close. Magnus's baritone is not as stirring as Prime's, and there is an edge of vengeful excitement in words spoken with a grim purpose. There's a sense that there's nothing to lose, only revenge to be gained with as much gore and violence as any one of us cares for. No holds barred. Nothing to lose.

It's going to be a slag storm.

Primus, please let the right ones live through this.

* * *

The memory dug deeper, trying with ever sharpening claws to gain purchase with each nauseating repetition. There was no unconscious dark between cycles, no respite: only unrelenting pressure and pain, heat and curdling sensation, impossibly real but wavering just enough at the edges to be resisted. Challenged. Denied as horrific fact though the sense that it was more than friction persisted.

Parts bent, broken and wrenched apart, his core exposed to pain and painful pleasure. Fullness, a sickening sense of his body filled to capacity with another's oily swell. Teeth at his mouth. Glossa wrapping about his glossa, choking. A spark consuming his. Sudden, unexpected life between them, clinging where the pain felt most intimate like a parasite.

Laughter, and then all over again. An endless march of sight and sensation, never breaking or waning.

Too real to be real, but the memory ground him down.

Unquantifiable torture.

He was on the cusp of surrendering to belief, to bowing in acknowledgement that this too-horrific nightmare only felt too-horrific because it was true. It was just outside the borders of his experience. Hours and centuries and millennia of psychological, emotional and physical torture had never felt like this, but that didn't mean that it wasn't real.

Against Megatron's mouth and body, on him and in him and filling his every fibre with unwanted power and sensation, the Prime roared of Primus what was he to do to end this. Why, after a lifetime of honour and humility and servitude and sacrificing to causes bigger than himself was he being defiled by a monster in a monstrous way? And why wouldn't it end?

Aching beyond the reach of his physical body, Optimus felt beaten and crushed down, so much so that the darkness and silence that suddenly fell about his raw mind felt terrifyingly shrill. He could think again, though cautiously, as the barbs of sight and sensation were already beginning to creep back. A blank mind kept them a little at bay.

Unaware of anything, including his body which seemed to have been wrapped off from him in padding, Optimus tried to drag together his thoughts and mind. He grappled to remember what had happened before he'd become trapped in the nightmare. His last clear, certain and linear memory was of submitting himself to Starscream's care. The Seeker had physically reached into his mind and done… something.

Too close, and the images flashed through again in a blur, claws and heat racing across his chassis like a hard wind. Optimus recoiled, retreating from speculation and trembling when the gentle assault passed. Clearly contemplating it would summon the trap again and he might not be able to break back from it before it destroyed him.

Something had interfered this time – helped him. Saved him. His senses felt blocked and blind, though he was aware of an external to this place his mind resided. There was a brush against the caged corner of his processor where he was conscious, and with relief he felt back at the old presence. Certain, assured, experienced and roughly caring. Not Starscream. Ratchet. But Ratchet hadn't been there. Starscream was his last clear memory – the last breadcrumb before he fell.

- Where is he?-

The question had floated up before he realised he'd composed it, breaching the surface of his processor like a bubble. The pause that followed fuelled his unease until the old presence sent crude glyphs back to him, the language of fragile processors.

- Where's who?-

Starscream was connected to this. Every time his mind broached towards that thought the images came again, threatening him back into silence.

- Starscream.-

Finally the barriers containing his mind receded and Optimus felt sensation flooding back from his body, partially displacing the cold metaphysical pains that had been there before. A burning ache in his arms, the warm padding of a medical berth beneath him, and a fine, complicated hand over his. Just as he was coming to acknowledge the astounding processor ache and the merciless straps holding him down, the medic withdrew from their connection and went on aloud.

"Why do you want to know where Starscream is?"

Optimus shifted fractionally, flaring his armour against the restraints and the berth beneath him to reaffirm its solidity, making it distinct from the nightmare he'd so long been inhabiting. His vocaliser sounded rough and underpowered. "Last thing I remember, before…"

Ratchet bowed his head and measured his tone, intending to break the news carefully. His optics were bright as he watched the mech's face, tracking the disorientation and resistance. He was surprised and disturbed that the Prime was still so out of sorts, but then he'd never witnessed such ongoing and traumatic fluxing before. "Starscream went with Tempest and the Autobots to the space bridge."

No response, though it didn't come as a surprise when there was a blunt click from the battle mask as a latch checked itself, reaffirming that it was there and locked down. The engraved servos on the sides of the mech's head twisted in short jerks, erratic and suggestive of turmoil. When the Prime did nothing, Ratchet shuttered his optics and ran his thumb over the sharp knuckles. The gesture of helplessness was not one he was not proud of.

It was only through the hardening that came with centuries of war that stopped Ratchet from cringing. "Optimus, they've gone to kill Megatron for, what he did to you. Magnus is leading them, and…" He trailed off with a hot exhale, gritting his dentals to say the rest. "Tempest will take the kill."

The restrained mech shifted the few millimetres that the straps would allow, barely hearing the answer and comprehending less of it. His processor was fogged and his sensors couldn't make out what was real. Only five words registered, and the phrase wrapped easily about his processor.

_What Megatron did to you_.

It made him inadvertently recall, inviting the flux up to impose itself as hard truth again across his processor, blocking out the Medbay and the medic standing over him. With cloying speed, the world faded away from him as his mind returned to the shattered cavern where he was pinned and hurt, cracked open and-

Ratchet squeezed his hand, voice urgent. The mech's processor shouldn't have still been this damaged after all the work he'd done, but he couldn't just put him under again and hope it went away. This needed to be dealt with, and the carnage doubtless taking place at the harbour halted. Only Prime could do that.

"Push it aside – don't let it take you again. It'll take some time to recede completely," he explained, wincing at how obvious the guilt was to his own audios. He suspected that with just a few more hours under sedation, with the mech's processor given more time to reorganise itself, that this wouldn't be happening. But they didn't have that time. With the Autobots gone to a new plateau of war at the heels of Tempest and Ultra Magnus, he couldn't leave their Commander unawares and strapped down.

Optimus kept his optics shuttered, attempting to block out the feel of the medic's hand on his as much as everything else as he tried to draw his thoughts together. It was almost impossible to distinguish these waking moments from the preceding nightmare, his thoughts bleeding and blurring into one another as he tried to understand. Heat and pressure. Pain mingled with a bitter orgasmic pleasure that sickened him. Starscream. The scene that had played over and over. The lines didn't quite touch but the connections were almost tangible. Damning and close. Close enough to threaten him with the punishing visions from the cavern in his processor. Instinctively he tried to curl his body, highlighting the bonds that restrained him. Held him down.

Fresh heat spread across his chassis and beneath the feel of claws peeling apart his chest plates, seeing the pulsing light of his spark washing outwards as hips settled against his hips. No space left between them but for hatred. Held down and held still and held open and spark-fucked. So real and threatening to be real again, running over and over in his mind for eternity. The straps tightened, held him flat and exposed. No way up and no way to stop it. Helpless and receptive.

"Let me up."

The order was flat and rough, given with his optics still offline and a rippled tremble through his body. Breaking away enough to make the commandment had been like gasping.

Hesitation before the medic shifted into his field of view, and Optimus haloed the blue lights slower than normal. Ratchet was disquieted to find that they didn't waver, as if lifelessly lit. The small plates of his face tightened together, drawn into familiar routes of worry and fatigue. He shook his head a little. "But Optimus-"

"Do not have me tell you again." Immeasurable steel had curled into place, foreign and breathing of simmering power. The images and sensations trying to take over fuelled it, set back through pure willpower as Optimus grappled to keep hold of what he feared was actually his sanity.

More than the tone, it occurred to the medic that being restrained so severely after such ongoing traumatic fluxes would do more harm than good, and he nodded his assent. Most of the straps slackened and retracted back into their housings beneath the berth at his will, but the few that had had to be reinforced took a few minutes of Ratchet's circular saw to release. Neither of the mechs spoke until Optimus was free of the bindings and could twist his body upright, which earned a sharp but ignored click from the medic.

Disorientated and directionless, Optimus only knew for certain that he did not want to be on the berth any longer. He could see very little beyond this sphere of distress and pain. Ignoring Ratchet's protest, he slid his legs over the edge of the berth to stand and instantly landed on his knees when his equilibrium servos pitched wildly and his processor exploded in a nova of pain. He clutched his helm as if holding the pieces of it together, fragments of sight and sensation seizing in bursts across his mind, overlaying the room. Pressing darkness and a thick heat in his chassis. System-wide pain. A glossa curling in his mouth.

Ratchet gripped his wrists in a firm reminder of his presence, optics bright and close. "It'll pass, Optimus," he assured quickly, gently, withdrawing his hands with a grimace at the mech's flinch as he sat back. "Your processor still isn't fully partitioned and quite unstable." His sensors ran a constant scan, updating him by the second as more of the mech's processor was activated and booted up against his systems. When Optimus touched his finial, optics narrowed, he couldn't help a sigh. "I deactivated your comm. There was a risk that you would start projecting… what you were perceiving."

Optimus nodded fractionally, one hand remaining to his helm as the pain continued to abate too slowly for his liking. His mind felt unstructured and chaotic, as if he couldn't quite distinguish what was and wasn't real. The persisting ghost was Megatron's body over his, within his.

It felt real: vivid and painful, as real to him now as the memory of Forge's berth. Of landing on this planet and meeting Sam and Mikaela for the first time. Of first taking the Matrix into his body. But his spark screamed that there was something wrong. That those memories differed, and that this wasn't what happened when he'd conceived Tempest. But he couldn't grasp any other alternative, and the 'truth' was an ominous chasm that twisted his tanks too much to approach.

He grimaced as his processor instinctively fixated on the incongruity, blossoming pain and blurring the nightmare with this waking reality.

"Drink this."

The larger mech shifted in surprise and sat back a little more, unaware that Ratchet had left him to get a cube of energon. He shook his head, dentals gritted at the prospect of ingesting anything at the moment. "I'm full."

"It's not energon." The medic arched a kind brow, encouraging as he held out the High Grade. When Optimus didn't meet his optics, he added, "It'll help take the edge off."

The tease of some respite tempted the larger mech to consider the cube before finally taking it in a ginger hand. Ratchet watched the uncertain motion with tense lines, keeping his movements slow as he settled back on his haunches and continued his myriad of scans. The sound of his optics twisting in concentric circles as he watched seemed obscenely loud, particularly given that the Medbay felt like it had shrunk to the space of the berth's shadow.

Optimus ignored Ratchet's attentiveness as he took small sips of the sweet fluid, trying to draw together some kind of sense as the High Grade warmed his lines and, as promised, took the edge off the confused anxiety that underlined his spark. His chronometer told him that time had passed, more but somehow less than he'd been aware of trapped in the flux.

They sat in perfect silence for half an hour, the atmosphere seeming equally loaded and fragile to both mechs. Ratchet was loathe to say or do anything until Optimus did, and the Prime spent the time running internal diagnostics to assure himself that he was awake and undamaged, attempting to soften and still his agitated lines.

Finally setting aside the half-drunk cube, he brought a knee up to rest an elbow on, pressing a hand over his optics to physically block Ratchet out as he tried to think. By overlooking the specifics of that vision, he could begin to pull together the last things that had happened.

Starscream had done something in his helm after taking him offline. It was precisely then that the nightmare had started. Even through his aching processor and nausea as he edged close to the truth, Optimus could see a potentially damning connection between the last four days and the Seeker. He wasn't sure what it was, and suspected that only Starscream would have that answer.

Optimus became suddenly aware of how quiet things were. Mindful of his absent comm., and how even contemplating activating it hurt, he settled for small steps and simply asked: "What's happened?" A small, infinitely weary smile and he met Ratchet's optics. "Slowly, from the beginning."

Ratchet nodded a little, fidgeting to settle his weight on the floor with a whine of servos as he composed a summary. "The Autbots have gone to engage the Decepticons and destroy the spacebridge. Magnus is leading them with Tempest. They're going after Megatron."

There was something foreboding there, and Optimus narrowed his optics in thought. This was more than just an attack on the Decepticons and the space bridge. The Autobots gone to battle. Tempest to murder his Creator. Starscream. Vengeance and something else. Some motivating factor.

His processor throbbed and he raised his hand to it with a grimace. "How many of them have gone?"

Ratchet answered evenly though indirectly. "Luna and Red Alert are still here."

All of them. Optimus confirmed it meeting the medic's stare, optics bright and not fully comprehending. Ratchet answered the unspoken question, knowing that he had to be blunt now for him to take it in. The only way he could deliver it was with clinical detachment. "When you began fluxing, Tempest hacked you to try and break you out of it. He saw it – your nightmare. The memory of his conception. The Autobots have set out to take revenge for Megatron's assault of you, and your son is determined to take the kill for himself."

In the back of his mind Optimus knew that the levelness of those words did not mean that Ratchet was uncaring – rather that the medic was so troubled that he'd partitioned his feelings off for the time being. The cold facts struck him like an energy pulse, stealing warmth from his parts as his systems tightened in shock. It was true then, and everyone knew it. Tempest's ongoing fears about being the product of a rape had been correct, and he was going to kill his Creator for the act.

Optimus sagged back with resignation, optics wide and fixed on some point in the middle distance towards the floor. Megatron had raped him; Tempest had been born; and now Tempest was going to kill Megatron for raping him. It was dark and straightforward… and yet too easy to swallow. His spark pulsed in rebellion as he iterated to himself that it had not been so simple. Megatron had pinned him in the cavern, and he had felt the sparkling bloom to life against his spark, but there hadn't been that much violence in between. For everything he was, Megatron wouldn't have actually subjected him to such an attack. The memory was wrong, and yet every time he protested as much it tried to surge to the forefront of his mind, as if burning itself into his processor enough times would make him accept it as truth.

Distress was an easily perceived emotion in such close proximity, and infinitely more so to Ratchet's keen perceptions when Optimus did not have his composure drawn impenetrably about him. These memories would haunt him, he conceded as reached out a slow hand to touch the mech's shoulder in reassurance. Before contact was made Optimus shifted away, optics narrowing, and Ratchet withdrew his hand with a shamed grimace.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet murmured gently, watching his lowered face. "And I know this is hard, but this cannot happen. Tempest killing Megatron is not the way to overcome this. You both need to talk to heal these wounds. If Tempest succeeds, his spark will never recover. And, I fear, neither will yours."

Optimus gave a short nod, vents huffing decisively as he absorbed the logic there. Whether or not this memory was accurate, something that he'd need Starscream to find out, was a concern for another time. Right now Tempest needed to be brought home and stopped from doing irreparable damage to himself.

He was about to try to get to his feet when Ratchet clicked absently, detecting something. A few seconds passed as Optimus waited before there was a quiet, tinny knock at the human-sized door into the Medbay, clear even from across the room. The mechs exchanged a long look before Optimus nodded his assent, bowing his head with a sigh as he rubbed across his optics once again.

* * *

They'd rebuilt Devestator.

It was bad enough that there were far more Decepticons than they had anticipated being on this planet now gathered at the harbour, many of them not much larger than Wheelie and attacking with an inexperienced desperation that was dangerous in a whole other way. A wash of them were scuttling and leaping everywhere, though there were none within the combined mech's immediate vicinity to avoid being crushed themselves. Their focus was to swarm on individual Autobots across the harbour, slowing them by chipping and cutting away until a larger Decepticon warrior engaged.

At least Devestator had levelled most of the warehouses so that they could see the battle, Magnus reasoned as he scaled the base of one of the industrial cranes. Arming his missile launchers for an explosive volley, he opened his comm. to the Seekers. _Keep the Decepticons away from the spacebridge until Wheeljack can get in and deactivate it_. He watched the four jets pass overhead with a dry roar, circling the spacebridge to pick off and set back the Decepticons guarding it._ And_ s_tay away from Devestator – we can't afford to lose any of you_.

_No intentions of getting sucked up_, Skywarp assured with forced levity, breaking out of the diamond formation to lay down cover fire for a NEST group who were following Bumblebee to plant explosives around the enormous mech's feet. Out of habit his sensors picked out Arcee's presence alongside Sideswipe, having doubled up against a yellow Decepticon they hadn't seen before who had taken to using mini-cons as living projectiles.

When Magnus's ballistics struck in a white-hot wave in front of Cyclonus and Shockblast, a momentary stunned lull fell across the battlefield as wide optics took in the deadly pyrotechnics. Prowl took advantage of the almost-peace to move across an exposed patch of tarmac with Bluestreak in the direction of the spacebridge. He halted them both when the Twins rolled past bristling with at least twenty minicons apiece covering them; stabbing, grappling and shooting point-blank amidst a litany of slurs. Though the tiny Decepticons were coming away in a shower of pieces, they were still enough of a distraction to keep the warriors from going after the larger mechs.

The tactician glanced up to locate the circling Seekers ,watching as Skywarp returned to Tempest's right and Starscream retook his position at the rear of the diamond. _Thundercracker, we need to get some altitude to pick off all these mini-cons_ he with narrowed optics, listening as Bluestreak took position at his back. With short bursts of hot _pocks_ from his rifle, the sniper picked off individuals from the approaching wave of red-eyed metal that was steadily closing in on them.

Immediately the elder Seeker tipped at a hard angle to turn before banking low to approach the slim mechs, slowing as much as he could at this altitude. Above them, Starscream surged forward to cover the gap. When Thundercracker felt hands grapple onto his wings and finally grip, he flattened his posture and started for the top of the closest crane. _It may not be stable for long, but it's the best vantage point left_, he informed as he completed a tight orbit for them to jump across onto the red lattice. _Just call when you need taking down._

Prowl nodded his thanks and began to climb, looking over the sprawling battlefield as he went. It was a chaotic mess of brawling mechs, explosions and tight teams that sought to penetrate the Decepticon's lines. The miniature Decepticons moved all around in black waves, and with a groan he noted that they were reassembling their brethren between assaults.

Starscream retreated back to his position in the formation as Thundercracker rejoined them without consciously thinking of doing so. He felt detached from the battle, his ongoing assessment and savagely accurate shots automatic and unconscious now after so many years of war. His chassis felt tight with a myriad of emotions that he had no desire to think on, to say nothing of the tight fit that the sparkling had within his alt. form. To his displeasure, the only way she could be safely transformed around was to have a portion of her silver cocoon visible in the bottom of his cockpit, which he was making a point not to expose to anyone.

Despite everything going on below them, his main focus remained the Harrier that wove around missiles and energy shots with as much ease as he shot back. The guardian bond continued to be filled with a prickling disease that made his tanks churn. He couldn't believe how calm the young mech was.

His sensors gave ample warning of a shot from Brawl hurtling towards his wing, and Starscream spun away hard to lead the missile away from the group. A last-second 180 put his nose facing it with enough time to blow it up long before it reached him, and he flew through the flames and smoke with sensors flared. As an afterthought, he fired the missile that Ironhide had furnished with a plasma bomb back at the tank, not lingering to see how much damage it did. _No sign of Megatron yet. Or Soundwave_.

_They're here,_ Tempest replied with certainty, tipping his thrusters to come to a halt over the building whilst the other Seekers continued onwards. Hovering, the Harrier sent a crackling spray into a cluster of minicons circling about the doors. _They're waiting for our numbers to diminish and fatigue, but we'll be ready for him._

_We will_, Starscream affirmed, tone flat despite the fact that his body was corkscrewing to evade fire. He felt his wing punctured in a line of pearl shots and put on an additional burst of speed. They needed to clear the area around the spacebridge without triggering an explosion from the device's highly-energized components, allowing Wheeljack to get through and deactivate it safely.

Thundercracker saw it first, and his communication was clipped. _Hot Rod._

Starscream cast his sensors about again, quickly picking up the mech's body churning in Devestator's jaws and altering his path to close in with cool detachment. _I'll go get him out or kill him quick_.

_We've got Tempest, _Skywarp assured, trusting Starscream's skill over any of their own to retrieve the crippled mech if it could be done. He was also surprised by the move, having never seen their Commander go out of his way like this for anyone other than a fellow Seeker, and he wanted to see if Starscream followed through with it.

* * *

Luna's orders had been very simple: keep Swanson distracted by any reasonable means. Knowing what was at stake today, the pale yellow femme had played her trump card immediately, caution be damned for the opportunity for her Prime and Commander to be avenged.

After bringing the scientist-come-bureaucrat up onto the rec room sofa to stand beside where she was sitting, Luna had removed one of her abdominal plates and touched at the visible mesh of silver weave, the ambulatory cords twitching and flexing with every fidget the sparkling made. "This, Ms Swanson, is my sparkling. She is due in a little under two weeks."

Ignoring the male scientists standing behind her on the oversized cushion, Swanson hugged her clipboard to her chest and leaned in with narrow eyes. "Remarkable."

When the woman's hand twitched as if wanting to reach out and touch, Luna gave a soft smile and produced Mikaela's welding gloves from a hip compartment. "You would harm yourself if your hands were bare. And please, do so. I know you are curious."

Swanson glanced up with an expression as close to dumbfounded as her features would ever go. Accepting the invitation with a curt not, she silently put on the gloves and closed the space towards the larger femme's sitting body. Her hand wavered in the air in a rare show of uncertainty before her mouth set in a thin line and she laid her fingers against the exposed silver. A ripple of motion beneath, unquestionably alive, caught her breath. She'd expected something clunky and mechanical, but the umbilical sack felt soft and the child inside organic. Luna's smile went unnoticed.

"The Decepticon defector, Starscream, told us that there were no active pregnancies amongst the Autobots." It wasn't quite an accusation.

Luna made a thoughtful sound and rested a slim hand at the top of the sparkling's curve, considering the soft swell and the human woman touching it as if in thrall. "I fear that Starscream doesn't understand the pleasure of bearing live, and the joy in sharing that pleasure with others." A smile that bore the shadow of a smirk pulled at one corner of her mouth. "Our young are most precious to us. He was just being protective."

Swanson nodded with a cooling expression, clearly attempting to quash her possibly compromising sentimentality in this instance. "So," she began in a clipped tone, "code is taken from the Creator progenitor which merges and constructs itself following existing reproductive programming. Like a self-propagating factory. Is that correct?"

Optics flashing downwards briefly, Luna paused before thinning the tenuousness out of her voice. "It is not so cut and dry, Ms Swanson. We are, after all, living, and things can go wrong regardless of our programming and mechanical systems." The plates of her face contracted for a moment, underlined by a sparkling's kick. "When the Prime was carrying Forge, I was also bearing a sparkling. When the sickness spread amongst us, I… That is to say, Blue and I lost her. I miscarried, and it was only through hard fate that Prime did not also."

The woman was still, thoughtfully disturbed by the human emotions so thick in the Cybertronian's voice and body language. "I'm sorry." When Swanson said it as if to a human woman, she surprised herself.

Luna nodded a little with a sigh, accepting and appreciating the sentiment but wanting nothing more to do with it. She watched Swanson take a brief glance around the room, specifically the lack of anyone else in it, and it reiterated the suspicious silence. Before Swanson could formulate her query, the femme adjusted a small hand with her fingertip so that it touched against the sparkling's.

"That is her hand. She's a little smaller than you are." She cocked her head when Swanson met her stare. "I will welcome any questions you have about sparklings and carrying to the best of my ability. I have no other duties to perform today."

Swanson's small eyes brightened and she retracted her hand, setting the gloves aside for the sake of the pen and clipboard.

Luna blinked and supressed a smile. That had been far easier than she'd been expecting.

* * *

Ironhide had been running and tumbling beneath Devestator's feet for the better part of an hour, firing thick wads of explosive clay into the joints where the bots had combined to make up the monstrously large mech. A new pressure in the back of his mind had cost him a few near-misses, distracting him from periodically firing a cannon pulse into the ground to throw off the minicons who kept scrambling to climb on him and stab through his armour.

It was the bond, he knew, though he couldn't tell what. Optimus fluxing again, most likely. He couldn't afford to think about it, though his spark ached to know and obsess. Such a bitter indulgence would cost him his life, and perhaps a few other bots' if he ceased his relentless assault on the most dangerous Decepticon currently on the battlefield. Megatron and Soundwave's absence was disquieting, and likely they were already on the Nemesis. Even if they were not already transporter away they needed to give Wheeljack time to get at the spacebridge safely and go over its logs to see if it had been used and, if not, to deactivate it.

A sustained volley of plasma grenades had drawn Devastator off whilst NEST flanked Wheeljack into the building that concealed the spacebridge, but it had also served to seriously aggravate the combined mechs. Hot Rod had appeared to help despite Ironhide's bellows to get away, and the specialist had been proven disastrously right when the transformed sports car was drawn up into Devestator's inhaling maw, saved only by a grappling hook across the mech's jaws.

"You slaggin' idiot!" Ironhide barked up, already charging across the combined mech's shadow towards a pile of rubble from which he could launch himself up in a rescue attempt. Though not yet pulled down into the crunching furnace of Devestator's through, Hot Rod was still being spun and battered at armour-denting velocities. The steel line of the grappling hook running from his forearm was already beginning to creak and fray.

Rolling to dodge the foot seeking to flatten him without finesse, Ironhide gave up on the rubble and swung up the broad wrist to scale the enormous creation. Devestator's wild movements and shearing plates sliding over and under one another to create a surface of crushing vices tore a strip of dread into the dark mech's spark that he wouldn't get there in time.

The keening whine of an incoming jet jerked his head up, and he watched as Starscream circled back to fly through and out of the inhaling draft, following the line of the grappling hook. Thrusters struggling not to be caught and dragged back himself, Starscream wrapped the cable twice around his arm and surged upwards with a shoot, pulling the hooks free and yanking Hot Rod up and out of Devestator's throat. He dropped the Autobot on the other side of the first building simply by releasing the line, not waiting to check it the mech was alive as he boomed back to rejoin the Seekers.

Ironhide knew better than to waste a valuable opportunity to check on a fallen comrade, cycling his cannons as he dropped onto his hands and knees to better scale the Decepticon's back without being dislodged. Earlier attempts to get at its neck and blow a second mouth in the back of its helm hadn't worked to down it, so Ironhide had changed tactics and aimed to rend at least one limb off. He'd been lodging in explosions clotted with fuel packages for the last half hour, and now he moved to detonate them.

Devestator twisted in a violent roll onto one shoulder, having long determined the Autobot's plan, and Ironhide had to cling between huge plates with gritted dentals to maintain his position. It rapidly became obvious that the combo mech was wholly fixed on stopping him now, which whilst beneficial to the others made it impossible to get atop the bomb-laden shoulder.

He couldn't simply shoot the explosives as the blast would have been catastrophic on this small site. Sensing the whistle of a strike, Ironhide snapped a concussive bo from his thigh and hurled it on full charge before leaping clear of the swiping hand. The explosive wave carried him harder than he'd anticipated towards the water, but he struck a crane first and found the red rungs sinking into his armour firm enough to stop him from tumbling down. He barely had time to get his bearings before the limb that he'd just succeeded in blowing off sailed into the crane directly below him and he was falling anyway, hurtling towards the bay with too much force for him to do anything about.

The water hit him like concrete, briefly stunning his systems as the column of steel punched him down amidst a cloud of bright bubbles. Dredged deep as a working harbour, the bottom was too far down for the surface light to reach it, and Ironhide sank into the black sediment beneath the crane's weight.

Alarms filled his processor, telling him things he had already worked out, and he forced them aside for the sake of examining the condition of the crane. Impaled and pinned, there as no way he was going to be able to slide out from beneath it whilst it was in one piece, and it was too heavy to simply move.

Charging his cannon on his one free arm, Ironhide realised a microsecond after firing how stupid an idea this was. The charge raced through the metal, sheathed by the seawater, and followed the torn rungs straight through the protective barrier of his armour. Arching deeper into the mud, his bellow of pain was a deep rumble that tapered off when he saw shadows moving towards him in the murk. He barely had time to recognize the two figures, let alone send out a warning, before the most angular fired upon him. System shock rattled his body against the crane, twisting the impaled wounds wide, and then a deeper dark beckoned.

* * *

Force of habit had Mikaela rap her knuckles against the side of the door, though she knew full well that Ratchet would have sensed their approach. Beside her, Sam stood tight-lipped with one hand interlaced with Forge's, the sparkling standing unsteadily and only a head shorter than the teen.

After a long pause in which quiet words were exchanged, Ratchet finally called. "Come in, Mikaela."

Exchanging a look, Sam followed her in with an encouraging sound to Forge and found that he had to make a conscious effort not to stop walking once they stepped inside and the mech came into view. "Shit, Mikaela," he murmured under his breath, peripherally noting her stiff nod.

"Zit," Forge agreed in a warbled chirp, followed by a rapid series of blunt clicks as he called out to his parent. The lyrical sound for _Sire_ was distinguishable several times.

Clearly Optimus had made a move to get to his feet only to be held down by one of Ratchet's hands on his shoulder, leaving him sat against the base of the berth with one leg drawn up and lowered optics. From across the room, Mikaela felt the hairs on her arms prickle upwards from the barely contained, organically nervous energy swelling around both mechs, and the undertone of their vents seemed an agitated drone.

"Is everything alright?" Ratchet asked mildly, looking away from the frozen mech to give them his full attention. His optics seemed particularly bright in their minds.

"Uh, yeah," Sam began with a glance to Forge, feeling the sparkling trying to get his hand free to go to his Sire but sensing that that wouldn't be a good idea. It was an effort to keep him fairly still at his side, though the dark mechling's physical protests were only mild. "We couldn't get Forge to eat and 'Kaela was worried his tanks might be getting, y'know, low."

Mikaela kept her gaze on Ratchet, though she was pointedly aware of Optimus listening. "We just wondered if you'd take a look while you're still here, just to make sure."

"Magnus delivered him to you with over half a tank," Ratchet replied with a thoughtful glance to the mech sitting at a right angle to him, one hand making a slight motion for the humans to approach. "I doubt there's anything wrong. Likely he's just missing his progenitors. He might take from you, Prime." The last he offered gently and with a note of hope. Forge might be there very thing that reaffirmed a safe feeling that this was real, and lift Optimus's processor and spark from the flux that was persisting just beneath the surface.

Optimus shifted a little, raising his optics to regard his son between the teens as they came to a stop beside his thigh. When Sam finally released his hand, Forge held up his arms with a trill to his Sire, fingers flexing. With only a few seconds of hesitance, Optimus scooped a hand behind the small body and lifted the sparkling to his chassis. Forge was hungry for attention and to be fed, though his sensors told him that the dark mechling was very far from starved. His usual feeding line, lying vertical and leading up to his spark chamber, warmed with recognition. However the seal didn't break, the overlaying parts that the line would be extended through stubbornly refusing to move. Offering the line felt like exposing himself and it sent a cold wave through his body, sharp pressures across his chassis making him jerk.

He shook his head with a look akin to agony covering his face plates, optics narrowing on the sparkling. His optics conveyed to the medic what his voice couldn't: _I can't_. He clamped his dentals when the wordless confession was met with a soft, uneasy sound from Ratchet.

The medic leaned across to pluck Forge away, setting him down on his feet with Mikaela and Sam. As his hand moved to Optimus's arm, he cast the humans a grim expression and nodded for the door. "He's well fuelled," he assured with more volume than was necessary. "Just being fussy. There're some poker chips in the rec room that he enjoys shooting with his laser. Keep him distracted with that for an hour and then he'll feed from the bottle."

"Okay, thanks Ratch'," Mikaela replied uneasily, bumping Sam with her elbow to get him moving when he seemed to want to linger with Forge. Seeing Optimus in this state had disturbed them both on a very deep level, but standing here gawking wasn't going to help anyone. Least of all him. "We'll see you later."

As they left, Sam said something that Optimus didn't pick up on through the buzzing in his audios, one hand pressing over his optics again as his spark twisted with shame anew. He couldn't feed his own son. Couldn't stop visualising what Megatron had been doing to him, over and over, for days.

This had to end – this pitiful weakness that was serving no good to anyone. Energised by the fresh burn of this new shame, Optimus clamped one hand on the edge of the berth and pulled himself upright, grateful that Ratchet had let him without interfering. He would go to the battle site and stop Tempest, then he would corner Starscream and find out what in the Pit was going on and stop this emotional anarchy that had been trying to lay waste to his mind. He'd been on his back too long and cowering under a berth even moreso.

"Are you alright?"

The question was barely audible from where Ratchet hovered at his back, and Optimus straightened himself with clenched fists. There was no point in lying, however. "No." He turned to face the yellow mech, voice regaining some of its usual strength and evenness. "Where did they go?"

"Bateman Harbour." He relayed the coordinates, then immediately wondered if Optimus was even in a fit state to intervene. He hadn't expected the mech to be in this kind of shape, and he couldn't understand it. The only other option was to reconnect his comm., Ratchet concluded, so that Optimus could call off the attack and summon the Autobots home without leaving the Medbay. "Prime, perhaps-"

Optimus raised his hand as he broke in, voice thick with warning. "Now is not the time to assert your authority over me, Ratchet, I promise you."

Ratchet's vents whispered the equivalent of a swallow as he absorbed the words and the single-mindedness that was plainly brewing in the Prime's optics. It took an awful lot to break Optimus's calm and dignified shell, releasing the primal forces underlining his intellect that made him such a skilled and savage close-range fighter. That monster was loose now. "Yes Sir."

A curt nod before Optimus touched over his arms, sensing the difference through the burning ache. He met Ratchet's optics. "My swords?"

Another shunt through his vents and this time Ratchet couldn't help but drop his gaze, shame darkening his optics. "Tempest," he replied flatly, certain that that was all the answer needed.

Optimus touched the space between his optics, grazing over the battle mask. "Of course." Dropping his hand again, he did not give Ratchet another look as he stepped away from the berth and towards the sliding door that would lead him out into the Yard. He left it open for the following medic but did not wait as he folded down into his alt. form, tearing off across the asphalt at speeds that a normal truck wouldn't be capable of.

Following in his wake with sirens blaring to warn human motorists of the truck's approach, Ratchet uttered a silent prayer to Primus that this would not end as badly as he feared.

* * *

With sensors busy following projectile trajectories, Decepticon movements and targeting enemies, it wasn't the Autobots who immediately noticed Ironhide crashing out of the fray. Providing cover fire for the soldiers planting mortars around the building housing the spacebridge to blow it once Wheeljack had rendered it inert, Lennox caught the enormous splash of mech and crane following an electrical squeal at the edge of his vision. He took a quick scan of his surroundings, a black pressure swelling in his chest as he realised that no one was rushing in to help, before he ran for the dockside.

Frothing bubbles broke the surface around the metal struts protruding from the water, but nothing else. Seconds later a plasma rifle seared a line of shots towards him, splitting and bursting the concrete to his right, and Lennox had no choice but to retreat grasping at his radio.

"Lennox to Ultra Magnus." He had to shout across the comm. over the roar of the Twins barrelling past to take advantage of Devestator's crippled state, joining Mirage and Bumblebee to put him down once and for all. "Ironhide's gone into the water with a crane. I think he's pinned."

Magnus flared his sensors from his elevated position, searching for the Autobot's other Big Gun. The area around the space bridge had been largely cleared, leaving Devestator as the biggest threat as well as the wait for Megatron's appearance. There had been no sign of Soundwave, either, suggesting that the highest ranking Decepticons may have already transported to the Nemesis.

"Arcee, get down into the bay and see what you can do," he instructed, cycling his ranged missiles to load the most potent rounds – the ones that ignited upon contact. "Devestator may be crippled but he's not out of the fight yet."

Waiting for the enormous mech to finish a cumbersome turn and give him a clear shot, Magnus let all fire across Devestator's flank where armour had been torn away to expose mixed and interlocking protoform. The silver 'flesh' flashed with blue flames that peeled through the gaps between armour with a ferocity that left all the component voices screaming. They fell apart a moment later still flaming, but the Autobots wasted no time in ploughing into them to offline them permanently.

Arcee weaved through the grappling bodies on her way to the water's edge, having to transform and flip over Mirage's back before finally diving down into the sea. The sounds of battle were muted and deepened beneath the water, offering a strange kind of respite as she flared the armour of her feet and began to swim down. Whilst the thick plates lent weight, her protoform offered buoyancy, meaning she had to swim as a human would along the twisted body of the crane.

Her sensors detected Ironhide long before her optics could pick him out in the fog of disturbed silt, his energy readings low and fluctuating as his systems fought to restart. Slim fingers feeling at the red bars against his chest, Arcee conceded with a grimace that she was glad he was unconscious given how deep the metal had sheared into him. Scanning over the crane again, she estimated that she could cut Ironhide free and then get help to drag him out without the crane immediately collapsing down.

_He's out of the fight but he's stable_, she transmitted to Magnus, climbing atop the crane and activating a cutting torch that gave off a crimson glow in the water. _I'm cutting him free now but I'll need help to get him out of here._

_Understood, Arcee. Devestator has been deactivated and Wheeljack is almost inside and at the spacebridge,_ Magnus assured, implying that she could remain with the unconscious mech now that the battle was almost over and in their favour.

Arcee cut off the comm. and adjusted her position as the first bar was melted through, leaving molten orange ends that boiled the surrounding water. Scanning for the next deepest impaling strut, she brought the torch to bear on a bar that ran clean through Ironhide's abdomen and began to cut it as close to his body as she dared.

Fixed on her task as she was, tracking the mech's systems turning sluggish as more ground to a dangerous halt, Arcee didn't notice Ratbat's presence until he was on her shoulder and twisting her over. The cassette bot had slid through the water as effortlessly as it flew, and now turned her with clawed feet to expose her chassis to Soundwave's sonic cannon. Though the blast was slowed enough by the water to not be fatal, it succeeded in stunning her systems offline and leaving her sprawled back over the crane, one hand draped against Ironhide's chassis.

Looking back as Ratbat made a quick return, Soundwave gave Megatron a short nod and waited for the Decepticon leader to come alongside him. It was almost time for their entrance.

* * *

Wheeljack had expected additional defences around the spacebridge, so he hadn't been completely dismayed to find a solid metal shell inside the human-built walls. It had taken almost an hour to cut through with a low-power torch, acutely aware of how unstable some of the components within a spacebridge were. He had no idea of how close he was to it with the cutting torch drawing slow progress, and could only trust that the Autobots would keep the battle away from the doorstep so that a fluke explosion didn't slag them all.

It had been a concerted effort not to think about the minicons and mechs being blown up and picked off by Bluestreak's rifle not ten feet behind him as he worked. When he was finally inside, Wheeljack's lights dimmed in palpable relief. The ring and turret structure stood in the dead centre of the open plan building and was of the smallest scale he'd ever seen. From the looks of it bots would have to go up in pairs. Threes at the most. It would have taken Megatron time to get all his forces up there. If he elected to take them all, he corrected as he moved inside.

Stepping out of direct view of the new doorway though remaining close so as not to be surprised by any Decepticon who survived the gauntlet, Wheeljack began to assemble his diagnostic tools and opened his comm. _Starscream, I'm at the 'bridge, but it's not a configuration I'm familiar with. I could use that consultation._

Starscream's reply was curt and punctuated by groaning thrusters, symptomatic of banking hard and fast to escape a pursuing missile. _Any sign of Megatron and Soundwave?_

Wheeljack waited until he heard thrusters outside the entrance he'd made before he began to approach the device, glancing back over his shoulder to confirm that it was Tempest who had stepped inside. His bell-shaped feet were scorched and one wing was blackened, though there was nothing in his posture to signal pain. The scientist ran his hands over the console, seeking out any kind of residual charge. _Not that I can see. I can't tell if the 'bridge had already been used, though._

There was a roar outside that made Starscream's next statement unnecessary. _I'll be right down._

The youngest Seeker remained at the door as Starscream stepped through, touching a hand to his back without looking as he watched for anyone who might be following. Starscream grunted an acknowledgement before crossing to Wheeljack to scrutinize the controls, setting one hand on his hip thoughtfully as the other rubbed his throbbing chassis.

"You're right," he confirmed softly, cocking his head. "This is a new setup, no doubt to accommodate this planet's fuels."

"Have you worked with spacebridges before?" Wheeljack asked, giving the Seeker a sidelong look. They were standing so close together over the controls that he could feel the surface heat from the mech's wings, a proximity that Wheeljack had never experienced with him before. His sensors chirped up a piece of data that made him blink and his jaw slacken, but he thought better of saying it out loud.

Way to go, Doc.

Dropping to his knees and wrenching off a panel from the bottom on the console, Starscream shifted onto his back with a hiss as his over-sensitised wings scraped the ground. "They weren't my specialism by any stretch. My experience was always 'Starscream, fix that immediately' and I had to figure it out from there. What about you? I thought you built one of these things on Cybertron."

Wheeljack rubbed his neck with a proxy cough. "Yes, but it, ah…"

A sigh from under the console. "It exploded, didn't it?"

The scientist nodded, unseen. "Spectacularly so."

Starscream muttered something under the console that the other mech's audios couldn't quite make out before there was a crack of sparks. Withdrawing his hand from the first connection, Starscream moved onto the next. "We shan't be using that 'expertise', then. Slag it, I can't see an actuate junction."

Wheeljack surveyed the console again, scanning controls that were initially unfamiliar more deeply and following their circuits to ascertain what they were for. "No 'on' button up here, either."

A long pause as Starscream investigated the guts on the console further, ultimately confirming his diagnosis and sliding back out with a grimace. "Soundwave built it," he announced with no little distaste, gripping Wheeljack's hand as it was offered down to him without noticing and allowing himself to be pulled up. Rubbing his back against the perpetual ache, he rested his other hand on the edge of the console and his weight down through it, thinking. "He's designed it so that only a direct connective can be used to use it."

"Will that make it harder to deactivate?" Wheeljack asked, taking advantage of Starscream's distracted gaze to scan the Seeker more thoroughly. The realisation of how close to birth the sparkling was sent a chill down his spinal strut, and he wondered what Starscream was even doing here amidst this battle. A glance to Tempest answered that question, and he shook his head a little.

Not noticing Wheeljack's preoccupation, Starscream allowed his scanners to glide over the arched struts of the spacebridge that contained the energies of transportation within the boundary of the platform. "Not unless you stay at the controls and let me do it," he answered with a smirk, looking to Wheeljack with an arched brow. "The elements to power it are unstable compared to what I've seen before, and a dirty use of energy. The lines seem clear so it hasn't been used yet. Once I get the fuel pods out and away we can blow the whole thing to slag and trap Megatron on this planet."

"Sounds good to me," Tempest chimed in, taking slow steps back from the doorway closer to the older mechs whilst remaining vigilant. He felt a need to be close to Starscream's back whilst he worked, protecting the Seeker and his precious cargo from whatever might try to come in through that door.

As Starscream moved to the first arch and began prying off the covering panel, Wheeljack took up position at the console. "Fiddling with the fuel pods is likely to wake it up and send feedback. I'll manage and ground whatever you trigger so you don't fry yourself."

"Appreciated," Starscream replied through his dentals as he wrenched the cover off, frowning at the complex lattice of cables beneath. There were six more arches. "This might take a while."

"That's okay," Tempest assured, head dipped and optics fixed on the doorway from where he stood between Wheeljack and his guardian. A micro-cannon was making short work of the few minicons who'd begun to venture close to the door, gathering numbers prior to a full assualt on the three mechs inside. "If Megatron wants to keep me waiting, we'll make sure he can't escape before I hunt him down."

Wheeljack's optics narrowed at the conviction in his words, fingers splaying across the console when flickers of light appeared beneath the controls as Starscream began to work. With no word from Magnus of a sighting of the Decepticon leader, he could only hope that they would have enough time to do this. When Megatron appeared, the last thing Tempest would be doing was covering their backs.

* * *

Jazz had been working through a small stock of rounds of his own design, their explosive tips issuing forth a dose of high-strength acid upon penetration of protoform. Several Decepticons had been charging about issuing smoke from their wounds as channels were liquefied through their bodies, distracting them enough for killing shots to be made with the savage melee weapons that some of the other Autobots were favouring.

He'd been on the lookout for Soundwave since the beginning of the fight, intending to take out Megatron's bodyguard and thus leave an uncluttered path for Tempest. Neither of the notorious mechs had been seen yet, despite everyone looking out for them, and it was only through the Special Ops bot's long familiarity with Soundwave's projected dead-sensor zone that he finally picked up on the moving 'absence' of the mech, and thus Soundwave himself.

Tearing up out of the water alongside Megatron, they both made a low charge across the demolished dock to the spacebridge housed inside one of the few buildings that had been left standing, crashing through Autobot and Decepticon alike. From his position halfway up a crane, Jazz threw himself down at a measured angle to land with a roll and a flourish ahead of their paths. Tracking back for cover, he raised his arm with a fast volley of six shells prepared, taking aim on Soundwave's helm.

_Tempest, Megatron's on his way to ya. 'Bout thirty seconds. I've got Soundwave's head on the block._

Just as he was squeezing the mental trigger, his sensor flashed an alarm that actually caused him to freeze – unheard of in the midst of battle. Twisting round, he caught a glimpse of the Prime's bold silhouette as he ran between two demolished and smoking warehouses towards the spacebridge. The small mech looked between the Commander and the two bolting Decepticons, quickly calculating that, for whatever reason, Prime wasn't aware of them and running headlong into a very ugly brawl. A sharp crack from his helm highlighted that Optimus's comm. wasn't receiving either, meaning that a warning couldn't be sent.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, and Jazz put on a burst of speed to intercept Optimus before he reached the armoured building, launching himself up across a downed Decepticon's back to connect with the running mech's chassis in midair. The benefit of his small size was that he could latch on to relay information like this when comm.s were compromised without encumbering the mech. It was unorthodox but it worked, and Prime had never voiced issue.

Today, however, Jazz's hands on the thick plates was greeted with a violent roar from the big engines before his legs were caught in one massive hand and he was thrown bodily back. The savage and sudden grip had triggered his loaded cannon to fire, sending the acidic spray point-blank into Optimus's side, though his long stride didn't falter.

Sprawled on his back in a heap of rubble, Jazz barely had time to feel a stab of confused worry before Onslaught appeared to take advantage of his felled state.

* * *

Megatron was no fool: he'd anticipated the Autobots learning of the Nemesis's presence and having the processing power to expect him to build a spacebridge. He'd hoped that they wouldn't find this site until at least his forces had begun to be transported, but their punctuality had caught him off guard. As had their savagery. He'd never known the Autobots to fight like this before, pulling off stunts and utilising firepower that he'd equate firmly with a Decepticon ethos of fighting. Optimus had always been a reluctant fighter, though no less threatening, and abhorred the use of needlessly violent weapons. Quick kills was the ethos he'd trained into his army, causing as little suffering as possible.

Listening over Soundwave's comm. from in the water, picking up fragments of footage from his forces, Megatron had been disturbed by the Autobot's fervour as the others, and it had been costing the Decepticons greatly. They weren't used to such low moves as pulse cannons to the optics or an energon-heated sheer through the interface panel. He knew full well that Optimus's conspicuous absence had something to do with it. He'd have expected a lesser form of this attack after successfully offlining the Autobot leader, but as he'd not had that pleasure, he couldn't fathom their feral motivation now.

They were losing – that much was very clear, and when the battlefield had begun to thin out he'd sent a short message to Soundwave that they were to make for the Nemesis. He didn't need an army when he had the only battleship and enough firepower onboard to take the upper mantel off this planet.

After the femme had been dispatched, Megatron had signalled to wait until the Autobots had moved off of Devestator's deconstructed body and away into the battle, leaving them a clearing on the dock to get out. With his communications officer still covering their electronic signatures, they finally made for the surface and the spacebridge.

Running across the battlefield they were both peppered by human and Auotbot artillery, though the only real threat to them left standing was being kept distracted by Brawl and his plasma bombs. With one shoulder destroyed and sensors temporarily blinded by a sonic blast, Magnus hadn't even seen them, and with Optimus absent and the weapons specialist pinned and offlined under a forty tonne tower crane there was very little that could stop them.

Megatron found himself revising this assumption as he reached the hanger, slamming a dozen human soldiers to one side with a blade and shooting the Autobot tinkerer with enough force to send him sprawling back from where he'd been working at the controls. Wheeljack didn't summon more than that acknowledging shot once the Decepticon leader had set optics on Tempest and Starscream, apparently standing guard whilst the pale mech worked. His sparkling's shoulder raised to target its monstrous cannon, hands flexing into clawed tips. Starscream bowed his head with grim determination, optics flickering to Soundwave, now passing calmly behind Megatron towards the spacebridge's controls.

"What are you doing here, you treacherous maggot?" Megatron spat, bringing his fusion cannon to bear but holding off actually firing to humour himself with Starscream's answer. It wasn't that he cared, but Tempest's presence interested him, and certainly his palpable rage. So very different to Prime. Perhaps there was hope for his son, yet.

Starscream smiled, optics bright and narrowed as he raised his nul ray in token watchfulness. "I'm here to watch you die, Megatron." A slight tip of his head in indication. "By his hand."

He had no intention of getting involved unless he absolutely had to. From the feel of the raw power seething off of his charge, he had no doubts over how this fight would end. Soundwave was his only concern as a threat to Tempest during the anticipated brawl. The jagged mech was linking his processor to the spacebridge and activating it, fingers sliding across the console as he compensated for the fuel pod that had been removed.

Megatron looked between both Seekers before bestowing the youngest with a grin, taking a single step forward. "Come to challenge my leadership, Tempest? Has the hunger finally got you chasing power hard enough to kill for it?"

Tempest shook his head with a jerk, optics melting to a shade of venomous red that was almost black. "Only you, for my Sire," he snarled back with sudden movement, launching himself forward with enough fluid power to cause Megatron to take a step back with open arms, his only option now to receive the howling tackle.

Just as the spacebridge pulsed to life, columns sending off splinters of light as the reactors spooled up enough power to reach the pre-set co-ordinates, Soundwave released his connective lines and stabbed into Tempest's rush with insectoid wings flared and crackling. Megatron tucked down and rolled to the side, uneasy at the prospect of facing this alien rage in the sparkling and sensing that it would fuel the Seeker's body to outstrip the reach of Prime's. And the rage. Tempest would crush his optics between his dentals if given the chance in this state. The Seeker was more powerful than he had imagined.

With Megatron directed towards the spacebridge, Soundwave deflected a blast from Starscream's nul ray and received Tempest's charging weight into his chassis, collapsing back with the force of it though already raising his weapons. His optics flared wide and his guns seized at the fantastic heat that suddenly punched through his chassis, sensors needlessly pointing out that the Seeker bore Optimus's energy swords and had just impaled his sparkcasing with one.

Tempest's mouth twisted with as great a severity as his arm did, corkscrewing the weapon as he triggered it to expel scythe-like blades down its length to carve mercilessly at Soundwave's internals. His other arm he raised above his head, summoning the buzzing axe and slamming it down with no fineness into the centre of the Decepticon's face.

He did not savour the kill but recoiled back and towards the humming spacebridge, a light from its centre contracting to a fine point as it completed the process of transporting Megatron to the Nemesis. Getting to his feet and lunging onto the platform, he turned on Starscream with a howl. "Send me after him."

Starscream felt the world slow, his processor thickening around the sounds of explosions, Soundwave's sparking body, Tempest's bellowed order and the feel of the femme scraping languidly against his chassis. Automatically and compelled by the empowered nature of Tempest's voice, he made for the console and with a few swipes set the machine for a second journey. The decision to get onto the platform at the last possible moment, when Tempest couldn't stop him, was sudden and stemmed in the well of fear, anxiety and guilt that was fighting to guide his actions.

Just as the light was haloing out around them, their bodies tightening as they were scanned to be disassembled on the microscopic level, whilst Tempest screamed at him to go back, Starscream saw Optimus's frame crashing through the doorway after them. Then they were gone into temporary oblivion.

Optimus had gone through the battlefield with little awareness of what was going on, crushing red-lit minicons and barely avoiding doing the same to several NEST shoulders as his wide feet carried him forwards. The noise was overwhelming, pressing in on his already hyper-aware processor and enhancing his urgency to get to Starscream and Tempest – Tempest to stop him from getting into a fatal fight with Megatron and Starscream to connect that dot that was keeping him from peace and sanity. He ran blindly, seeing smoke, battling mechs, rubble dust twisting in ribbon-thin shafts of sunlight, Megatron's mouth and the one building that the bots seemed to be guarding.

Something struck his side and held on, another clawing weight alongside Megatron's fingers tearing into his chassis to bear up his spark, and he threw the thing aside with only a grunt at the wave of searing fire that the motion seemed to trigger. He went on in a blur, dismissing system warnings as the corrosive liquid trickled down through his parts and burned through several lines at remarkable speed. Inside the building, he stopped over Soundwave's spread body to see Starscream and Tempest fading in a contracting sphere of light in the centre of the spaceridge. Wheeljack limped to his side, lights flashing with alarm.

"Bring them back," Optimus barked, his parts turning suddenly cold as the reality of the Seekers' absence settled in. When the scientist stuttered a negative, he stepped up onto the panel and turned a hard gaze on the mech. "Then send me after them."

The voice of the Prime broached no room for denial, and even less so when his voice was this charged and optics furiously bright. Uttering an unspoken prayer and an assenting click aloud, Wheeljack repeated the necessary gestures across the controls and watched with twisting tanks as Optimus vanished from sight.

A spatter of sparks from the console made his step back, and his scanners pointed out that the fuel pods had been taxed in too rapid a succession. As the controls began to leak ribbons of white smoke, he turned on his heel and moved to defend the doorway against the minicons that remained undeterred by this latest development.

_Magnus, we've got a problem._

* * *

Optimus had forgotten how disconcerting spacebridge transportation was, parts turning weightless and permeable for long seconds before his atoms crashed back together and his body lurched into existence. He'd been used to it in the distant past, but now he had to shake off the disorientation as he got down from the receiving pad on the Nemesis.

There was only the light of his optics in the room, which given the multitude of power lines running through it was either close to the engine room or the command bridge. With the sounds of fighting on the other side of the bulkhead door, he wasted no time in moving out and broke into a short sprint across the bridge to where Megatron and Tempest was laying into each other. To one side and partially hidden by a console, Starscream lay unconscious and leaking thick energon.

Megatron was spinning the spiked flail to land hard, gouging blows across the Seeker's wings, seeking to beat him into submission rather than kill him outright. Tempest, by contrast, was fighting feral and close, pushing through the hot pain across his wings and through his systems to slam the energon axe with both hands into the mech's side as if trying to fell a tree. So far Megatron had been managing to dodge enough that the lacerations were shallow, but they were accumulating and beginning to tax him.

Sighting Optimus approaching, Megatron sent the flail high so that the chain wrapped around Tempest's throat and drew him close. It cost him a stab through the abdomen, but allowed him to get his hand around the base of the axe and pull it out by its roots. "Come to watch our son being broken to serve me, Prime? He'll be unstoppable without you restricting his talents."

Any further goading was cut off in the Prime's roar as Optimus slammed into them both, snapping the chain from Megatron's hand so that Tempest could lurch back, the energon axe dimming and landing with a hard clatter on the deck. Optimus's fury was something Megatron was familiar with, but not to this mindless extent, and he wrestled to get on top of the tall mech to fire his pulse rifle directly into chassis and, after enough rounds, his spark casing. With their space confined to the bridge and nowhere to run, he greeted his dentals against Optimus's punches to hook his legs about the mech's thighs and aim his cannon.

The fight had been a smear of colour and emotion to Optimus, audios buzzing and optics framed white as his world shrank to Megatron and killing him. For what he had spent four days doing to him over and over; for what he'd tried to do to Tempest; for everything. When their legs interlocked and the Decepticon's weight settled against his hips, gun barrel jerking to his chassis, he went deaf.

Beyond rage, grief, fear and shock, Optimus wrapped his hands around the cannon as his body received the first shot, so charged that it felt painless. When Tempest appeared in his peripheral vision, his processor gained enough sense to shout an order. "Go back through the spacebridge – now!"

Tempest hesitated for a moment, optics wide as he took in the grotesque wounds accumulating on his Sire's body and Megatron's unrelenting lust to inflict more. Megatron's body wept even greater quantities of energon from damage he'd inflicted. This was really it. He'd been fighting to kill his Creator, and now his Sire was going to do it. Seeing their bodies tangled together, arching and jerking from violent blows and torn parts, Tempest felt his tanks twist and turn hollow.

_Tempest._ Starscream's voice came as a slick balm to his mind, and he took a step back from the fighting pair as he looked to his guardian. _Go._

Both orders were compelling and overriding, forcing the young Seeker back towards the spacebridge on the other side of the bulkhead. He watched through the doorway as Starscream dragged himself to his feet, looking over the console for a moment before finally entering in the old codes from when he had once lived on board this hip. On the pad, Tempest seemed to shrink in upon himself with a thick, childish failure, his mood lingering long after the shrinking light had carried him away.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and I promise more of Starscream's POV next time. The next chapter is a whole lot of talking, and Prime makes a decision about Starscream. I hope you enjoyed this penultimate chapter, and I'd love to hear back from you. Long or short, detailed or general, feedback is rewarding and wholly appreciated. I answer every review, so feel free to leave questions. _

_~ Borath_


	6. Chapter 6

_Stuff it. I am never going to try to predict how many chapters a story will take to finish again. The very last of this is taking so long coming together, but I got this bit finished today and thought I'd get some feedback and get rid of the cliff hanger. I hope you enjoy it._

_

* * *

_

Pitch

_Chapter Six_

It should not have been like this.

The sheer horror of how things have turned in the last few minutes keeps the thought from becoming redundant no matter how many times it flashes through my processor, in time with the energon pumping out of my left thigh. I knew the moment Tempest stepped onto the spacebridge in pursuit of Megatron that this could not go ahead, the guardian bond tightening like a vice around my spark as my recently develop conscience screamed black at me. I followed, and on the other side I had tried to drag Tempest back from where he was already trading metal with his Creator.

It was one of Prime's energy weapons that hacked into my thigh – his axe, specifically. I've taken blows from them before, but never so savagely swept and without my body shifting to evade. Tempest didn't miss the strike, and I'm glad for it as it was partly guilt that pushed him to obey his sire's order to go back. At the controls the spacebridge has flashed warnings after his safe transport, so I know we're likely trapped on the Nemesis now.

Trapped with the victor, and both of them would kill me, only Prime may be magnanimous enough to let me birth my sparkling first. It's the only mercy I could ask for now. The only one I could reasonably request.

He's been fluxing for days, the memory I concocted and furnished with as much trauma as I could overriding its directive to run once – and only once – as his processor kept rejecting it. It's still trying to overwrite his original memory of Tempest's conception now. I can see it in his bared dentals and dark optics, in the chaotic savageness of his blows and stinging fury seeping from his every part.

There's no finesse in him aside from the long, natural attributes of his form, and Megatron doesn't know what the frag to do with it. I know what's going to happen, see the mistake as I slump back under the controls when Megtron tries to pin Prime with his weight. I spent enough time scrutinizing and tweaking the memory of Megatron against and within from his perspective. At the Prime's roar, rooted in reservoirs of raw emotive power that I didn't know he had, I shutter my optics.

I reduced him to this – raped his mind and spark, blamed it on another but did it myself. The event itself may be a fiction, but the damage is very real. He might never recover from this. One flux to embed the data and make it memory to him, perhaps, but four days of continuous replay is beyond anyone. I must be.

I had dragged myself beneath the console as cover from their fight, my own manoeuvrability compromised by the fact that one of my legs is completely useless. Tucked sprawled into this space, though, my guilt seems to double and intensify – encouraged on by my cowering posture. With Megatron I could convince myself that I was without fear by posing as such for him, and it restricted the damage of his reprimands and sadism to physical wounds as I goaded him on. It is not a physical pain that lances me now, though, and I'm unaccustomed to guilt. My audios buzz alongside a rising tide of nausea and I shutter my static-framed optics, though I need neither sense to know what is happening in front of me. Between my sensors and having seen them fight hundreds of times before, I can practically see it. The sounds of it make the deck shake.

Megatron straddled Prime, his flail raised to strike at his helm but hesitating at the sudden cacophony tearing from the mech's vocals. He leans back a fatal fraction, enough for Prime to twist his body free, and then the line of the flail is used to drag Megatron close. Prime moves to punch a sword through his chassis from instinct alone, changing to grasp the thick plates instead when no sword appears, and gets to his feet.

Hard, fast pulses from Megatron's sonic cannon fills the bridge with the smell of ozone, but Prime is too blind to feel them let alone react to them. The bridge is an amplifier for the crescendo of their last battle. Metal tears in screams, punctured by the hiss of hot energon spattering on the deckplates. They make sounds, not words, and are more articulate for it, though there is a cold silence before the rush of air past me as a large body is propelled at speed to stop with a sharp crunch and bellowed obscenities. The deck shudders with hard vibrations from the spacebridge.

I inch back deeper beneath the console when I hear the blast doors leading on to the bridge slam shut with a grunt from Prime, a fraction of a second before the explosion can leap through and incinerate us both. My sigh of relief is restricted to my mind as my vents drone and wheeze. I envision Megatron's body smashing into the field arches, crumpling them with his weight and igniting the fuel pods inside to drive his body outwards. The sounds of his remains slamming into the blast doors is absent, but he is dead. He must be dead.

When I online my optics, pressing against my gored leg to close the largest of the leaking energon lines, I see that Prime is still by the manual control of the doors, optics narrowed on me and fist against the wall. Instinctively I brace myself, but to my twisting consternation he merely sits, drawing one knee up close and resting his face into one energon-coated hand. He's losing energon at a greater rate than me, and I can smell the acerbic gel dissolving parts in his side.

The tortured rage has left his body, though, leaving something that looks disquietingly like peace. Prime is slumped, leaking out and covered in the mess of his kill, and he looks close to recharge. Feeling a little bolder, I sweep my sensors over him to see if his processor hasn't completely cracked after everything I've put him through, but all I can detect is pain.

Real, physical pain overshadowing the data's attempts to force him to believe the memory, the one that's been sending ghost sensations across his body from how his chassis is marred from where he's obviously clawed at himself. So long as he's damaged and in pain, his processor isn't fixated by what's been cycling through it without respite for four days.

It twists my tanks to know it. I can barely cycle air, and it seems torturous to be left watching him now, waiting for him to kill me as he must do. Sagging in the warm pool of my own fluids with shuttered optics, I press a hand over the femme and let the silence thicken.

* * *

Though the faction leaders were no longer on the planet the battle went on undeterred, undeniably winding down in the Autobot's favour. Tracking the activity outside the building with half a sensor array, Wheeljack remained focussed on stabilising the controls of the spacebridge. It was still operative and, if he could relay these residual charges away from the fuel pods safely, could be used to follow Prime and the Seekers on to the Nemesis.

There was a ground-shaking explosion peppered with the cracks of stray ammunition, finally followed by a thunderous silence, the sounds of bots moving and the ocean the only things to be heard. Wheeljack turned away from the controls to watch Magnus jog inside, shoulder mounts issuing ribbons of white smoke from the devastating volley. Though he'd already the acting commander, he felt the need to re-iterate face-to-face, particularly given Magnus's expression now. "Prime ordered me to send him through after Starscream and Tempest."

Weapons collapsing back, Magnus closed the distance between them with narrowed optics. "And you allowed him to go?"

Wheeljack could only shake his head at that, a small gesture to convey the helplessness he'd felt in the face of that order. He'd seen Optimus walk out of battles he should not have survived, and knew now that he'd died once, but never before had the Prime looked like he'd walked straight out of the Pit. "Sir, he was…" His optics dipped, unable and unwilling to hold the demanding stare. "You'd have let him go, and whatever's happening up there, Megatron's as good as slagged."

Mouth hardening into a steel thread, Magnus bit back his first response as he considered the console. Finally he shook his head to dismiss the initial anger. "I sincerely hope you're right. At the very least Starscream is with them – he knows Megatron and the Nemesis, and won't allow anything to happen to Tempest or to Prime, even at the cost of himself."

The pale mech shifted a little, reflecting on the titbit of information about the Seeker that his sensors had gleaned, but thought better of sharing it. If he hadn't known, then Ratchet and Starscream were keeping the fact of their sparkling's existence very quiet. Even if he didn't understand it, he would respect that now, though his spark already ached for what Ratchet would be going through once he found out that his partner had gone.

"Will they be able to come back through the spacebridge?"

Magnus's question broke him out of the threatening reverie, and with a few keystrokes he nodded. "Yes, Starscream and I didn't have time to disable it before Megatron arrived, and I've managed-"

A hard whine and expanding sphere of light cut Wheeljack off, and both mechs watched the space within the arches as atoms materialized into a solid shape. It was only the bulk of the silhouette that differentiated Tempest from Starscream, and they both stepped up onto the platform once the transportation sequence was over to lead him down. Automatically, Wheeljack produced a patch kit from a side compartment as he skimmed over the burns, cracks and holes, leaving Magnus to lay a solid hand on the Seeker's shoulder. "What happened?"

Much like his sire in Wheeljack's mind, Tempest motioned away the offer of help, optics bright on the ground ahead of them. They could both hear his impressive processor humming. "_Sire_ and Scree are there with Megatron," he replied, finally meeting Magnus's gaze and forcing himself to straighten. Ironhide had drilled it into him that he must stand straight even after a crippling defeat, or risk his spark and comrades believing the slumped posture as something more.

It was a silent order from Magnus that returned Wheeljack to the console as he stepped off the platform with the Seeker. "What is their status?"

Tempest showed his age at the question, some of his armour-like resolve crumpling as his head dipped with narrowed optics, hand touching at the base of his neck. "Megatron's alive," he replied, his tone confessional. "Scr-Starscream's hurt, and _Sire_…"

Magnus was used to adults whom had become warriors, not sparklings. Reminding himself that they had all been this frightened once, millennia ago when the war was in its infancy, he placed a hand on the junction between back and wing, expression softening when he felt the Seeker lean into it. "What of your Sire?" Already his spark was throbbing with dread that Tempest had witnessed the Prime's murder.

To the elder mech's dismay, Tempest's head dipped lower and the hand against his neck tightened over heated lines. "Winning," he uttered at last, the word falling from his glossa. "He told me to go. They both did. But, I shouldn't have. He needs help. He's, hurting. So much. And it's my fault. If I wasn't here then none of this-"

A rough sound from Magnus cut off the snowballing tirade, and Tempest shifted on his feet as if awaiting reprimand. It didn't come as Magnus exchanged a look with Wheeljack, taking in the inventor's crestfallen expression that was doubtless only a fraction of what Tempest was showing on his hidden features. It struck again that this was Prime's son, not Megatron's – the offspring of his oldest and most respected friend. Magnus knelt, peripherally noting Wheeljack's focus returning to the console.

"Tempest," he began, encouraged when the Seeker met his gaze. There was a pause as he momentarily fumbled for words. He was good at battle speeches, but these kinds of talks were always Optimus's domain. He would try, though, and tightened his grip on the scorched and battered shoulder. "You are an Autobot. You were born an Autobot and you will die an Autobot. We are family and could never resent you for your past, especially one you had no control over. You've never embraced Megatron as your Creator, and you've prided us all today avenging Optimus, our Prime, for the evil committed against him. An evil that you are not a part of."

When Tempest dipped his optics again, Magnus thumbed the ridge of metal his hand rested on firmly enough to regain his attention. He offered a small smile. "I don't think you realise how few could go against such basic programming to invoke justice upon their progenitor. You have a Prime's spark, and I am proud today to have fought alongside it."

A ghost of a smile touched one edge of Tempest's mouth, and he tipped his head to reply before jerking about as the spacebridge gave a hard whine. Magnus straightened and moved behind Wheeljack, glancing at the flashing controls over his shoulder before looking back to the arches. "Prime?"

Wheeljack shook his head with a frown, fingers racing across the console as he tried to manage the energy through an already damaged system. "No way of knowing. But whoever it is, they're bringing a lot of-" Some internal sense that knew when an explosion was imminent stirred at the sudden mass of readings that came through, and he jerked Magnus down as he began to crouch. "Take cover!"

Only a fraction of the explosion's energy had come through around the solid body, but it was enough to make an impressive sound and to bend back every arch within a second. Tempest had crouched and put his back to the spacebridge at Wheeljack's yell, exposing the sensitive panels of his wings to the blast but protecting his vital systems. Ignoring the burning sting, he twisted on one knee to see what had come through. Though what was left was mangled, he knew who it was.

Magnus rose silently to watch Tempest ascend the platform, optics wide at the smoking pieces of gnarled metal that covered the space and were even embedded in the broken arches. Wheeljack didn't need to run any kind of diagnostic to determine that that spacebridge was beyond repair, and rested his hands against the console as he looked over what he knew were remains. "What is it?" 'Who' was potentially too terrible a word within that question.

Stepping through the burnt wreckage, Tempest stopped at a recognizable piece of angular metal and knelt to retrieve it. "The end," he replied softly, turning over the clawed hand in his own, touching the tips of each finger to close them into a fist. Scanners flaring, he traced the parts for some trace of Optimus or Starscream, finding nothing but his Creator. Detecting a processor, he crossed to the other end of the platform and picked up a large hulk of metal still issuing grey smoke, ignorant of Magnus stepping onto the spacebridge.

Dropping the dismembered hand, Tempest turned the chunk of helm in his hands with narrowed optics, expression fixed as he found the optical socket that should have looked back at him now empty and smoking. The corner of a snarled mouth was intact, as was part of a fanged jaw, but the rest was reduced to lines and ragged edges that had disintegrated in the explosion and further torn apart by the transportation through space.

* * *

In any life form, an over-abundance of feeling displayed physiological evidence – sometimes so subtle that it went unnoticed by the very individual demonstrating it. Sat against the Nemesis's bulkhead, Optimus found that he was brightly aware of every tick and tremble occurring in his body. Surface discs twisting on his helm; an energon junction spasming above his spark chamber; motor lines in his hands twitching smoothly, better lubricated now than they have been in decades.

He'd fixated on killing Megatron to end the war and save countless millions, and though many of their encounters had descended into close combat, he'd always, naively, thought that it would be a short parted that dealt the fatal blow. He hadn't been prepared for their final moments to be so savage. Megatron had already been dying from having his spark chamber connectives wetly torn out, doomed to death before he impacted upon the spacebridge, causing it to explode.

But perhaps, Optimus paused with a tightening of his fists, he had been ready and wanting of the gruesome finality all along, and it was purely this ringing silence that had left him… uneasy. When he had been fighting, locked against Megatron in a familiar struggle, his spark and processor had been so overwhelmed that sensation and sound overlapped, mingling within sensors that had almost become used to the flashes from the cavern.

Now, though, all the mech was aware of was a dull burn eating into his side and the hot ache of scorches, tears and holes. No claws sinking into his chassis to brutally cradle his spark. No thin arousal flooding his lines and pooling in his hips, where their bodies were most closely locked. No cool glossa curling into his mouth, mocking him with the triumph that he was so stunned and pliant that he wouldn't just bite the soft appendage off.

It was peaceful, even with the pain.

Because of the pain, he acknowledged dimly. His subconscious systems were occupied with cataloguing damage and organising his self-repair processes, as they should be, instead of obsessing over Megatron forcing their essences close enough to pass life. It was a relief, but after long moments, he conceded that it was far from an acceptable one. However, it would serve a purpose in the meantime.

Checking his diagnostics, Optimus found that several of the leaks, particularly those from the spreading acid in his side, were going to become critical before long without intervention. It only took a glance at Starscream to assess the same. Pressing one hand against his open side, peaking the pain and thus forcing his processor to focus, Optimus pushed himself off against the wall and to his feet. "Is there any 'kit on board?"

Starscream stirred at the question, optics narrowed and sceptical. After a long moment he finally nodded, though made no move to emerge from beneath the shelter of the console. "Repair bay's on Deck Eight, but there's a patch kit up here. Down on the left, there. That storage locker."

Retrieving the directed pack, Optimus hefted the bulky container back between them and set it down with a metal-grinding whine, hands resuming their trembling. Tanks twisting even as he did so, the damaged mech forced his fingers up to the first joint into the softening mess of his side, dentals clamping as he looked over the supplies. Finding what he needed within seconds, he dropped a soldering rod and patches to the floor before kneeling at an angle to the Seeker.

"I need to stop the acerbic gel before the leaks," he explained as a kind of apology for not tending to Starscream's weeping leg first, though the vocalisation was as much for himself as anything. Once the rod had heated to a white glow, Optimus dragged it in a slow swipe along the wound and fought not to curl in on himself. The device was designed to cauterise amputations in an emergency, but it could also be used to burn out foreign bodies when necessary.

Starscream watched as the thick acid superheated into blue twists of smoke, evaporating as the seeping energon was burnt into soft patches made hard by a second swipe of the soldering rod. The whole thing was over within minutes, leaving a grotesque chasm in the red and blue armour but nullifying the risk of leaking out. It would hurt for a long time, something that had doubtless been a factor in the Prime's decision to use it rather than lots of patches, Starscream decided. He frowned when the device was deactivated and set aside to cool when Optimus was finished, and watched the mech pause to gather himself before sorting through a handful of patches. Apparently he was to receive far gentler treatment. He didn't want it.

"Prime," he began, though found himself trailing off weakly. The larger mech didn't meet his gaze, kneeling closer and laying a large hand on his foot. He felt the tingle of a sensor scan running the length of his leg, cataloguing the points of rupture. The hand on his body was gentle, experienced with the care of others and concentrated now on how best to help him with as little pain as possible. He felt the mech's fingers, coated in energon and flakes of protoform, tremble for a moment before Optimus forced it to stop.

Starscream cycled a hot breath and clenched his fists, body stiffening as he jerked his foot away, patient hands following. The words were thick in his spark, pushing up as the only solution to this nauseating, crippling guilt and shame. It occurred that he didn't want to apologise for the sake of preserving something to his gain, and strangely not just to ease his guilt, either. He wanted to confess the truth because he didn't want to see their Prime like this. Hated that he'd done this to him.

"Optimus," the Seeker tried again, watching his hands still and gaze rise at the sound of his name. Starscream gritted his dentals, spark choking. "It's not real. The flux – it's not what really happened. I made it up. It's not real."

Optics brightened as Optimus absorbed that piece of data and integrated it against the twisted mess of facts he already possessed in his processor. The black pressure underlying the flashes and feeling of Megatron's body against his that decried that something was wrong. Starscream's presence before the days of fluxes. Tempest's grief and rage. Megatron dead. He saw the orchestration and felt the discs on his helm still. He felt cold throughout. Numb.

Shamefully unable to hold the stare, Starscream dipped his head and unconsciously pressed a shielding hand against his chassis, over the sparkling. When he looked up again, the larger mech's head was bowed and unreadable. "I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic thing to say and they both knew it. Optimus reacted faster than Starscream could move, and the Seeker sagged with cracked cheekplates. Resting his fist on his thigh, Optimus stared at the still body with dark optics, wondering what he should do. His initial impulse to make the second blow far more damaging than a stun was already passing when a soft _tink_ and scrape of metal hit his audios – the sparkling turning against its cocoon.

Sitting back and out of striking range for all their sakes, Optimus rattled out a hard sound through his vents and found his gaze falling back to his hands again. They were trembling as hard as before,but now he couldn't decide why.

* * *

The war was over, but the peace was tersely silent.

Lennox had watched a handful of Decepticons look in on the building housing the spacebridge, confirming for themselves that both Soundwave and Megatron were dead. The remains of the Decepticon leader, though mangled and charred, were still recognizable. Now the faction linger on the ruined bay, uncertain and unsettled not to be prisoners of the victors. Some of them were following the Autobot's lead and helping to put out fires, whilst others were still and quiet. At his side, Epps seemed to be enjoying watching Sideswipe herding a flock of minicons into freeing the twins from most of a crane platform.

Both soldiers felt more than heard Ultra Magnus's approach towards the dockside, all noise drowned out by Tempest's vector thrusters as he hovered with a chain leading into the water. At the other end, Prowl was affixing the hooks to Ironhide's body whilst Bluestreak cut away the crane as best he could. Arcee had already been brought out of the water, and now stood beside Skywarp scanning Devestator's remains for any explosive materials that may not yet have gone off.

"He lives, Major," Magnus assured in a soft rumble by way of a greeting, coming to stand alongside the soldier with arms folded as he surveyed the scene. "Ironhide would not permit something as innocuous as a forty tonne crane to offline him."

Lennox smiled thinly, though didn't take his eyes off the churning water. "What about Optimus? Is there any word?"

A low sigh from the mech, and the air came out tinged with grey from the strain of battle. "The explosion that destroyed Megatron also destroyed the spacebridge on the Nemesis. We can only assume that the same explosion damaged the ship's communications array and that Optimus and Starscream are alive. Neither of their comm.s have the power to transmit to here from the edge of this system."

Lennox bowed his head to rub a blackened thumb and finger across his eyes. He hadn't absorbed anything after the mech's admission that they could only hope. "Would Ironhide be able to be able to tell if Optimus is, online?"

With a groan of metal and thrusters, the chain began to rise. Within seconds, the shadowed shapes of the surfacing bots were visible. "That is my hope," Magnus replied, kneeling to offer his hands to the water. As an afterthought, he added softly, "The remains –were- Megatron's alone. That is something."

"Suppose so," Lennox murmured as he retreated back with Epps. They watched as Bluestreak was pulled up onto the dock, seawater pouring from his seams in degrees that surprised them both.

Flexing his plates to encourage the water out, the sniper noticed Ratchet's approach from the area where the wounded had been carried and stabilised. Though it had been close for a moment with Hot Rod, their side had suffered no fatalities, and Blustreak found himself wondering if that was due to their particularly exceptional savagery and previously-banned weapons. Seeing Lennox and Epps watching the water as Tempest continued his agonisingly slow ascent, the slim mech knelt at their sides with a little shake to clear his vents. "Don't worry about old 'Hide. He came online whilst me a Prowler were working on him. State he's in he won't be winning any matches for us for a while, but he's alright." His optics rolled a little and he shrugged. "Except for being fragged as all hell that he missed half the battle napping under the sea."

"He'll be more than that when he finds out about Prime," Ratchet intoned flatly as he came alongside, sensors already sweeping over the mech's body as it breached the water. His optics flickered to Magnus momentarily, brows drawn. "I'm not apologising for bringing him 'round, Magnus. He shouldn't have come, but I could no more leave him on that berth than I could leave Ironhide down there."

Magnus shifted his weight but otherwise gave no response, and merely watched in silence as Ratchet gestured and directed the dark mech down. Lennox couldn't disguise a grimace when he saw how much damage his guardian had sustained. He'd seen Ironhide gruffly shrug off a lot of things, putting pain to the back of his processor, but this time the mech was silently rigid around the dozen twisted girders that curled out of his chassis. Two of them protruded through his back, dripping cloudy water.

Tempest's engines were whining as he brought the bulky metal across and gingerly began to lower him. Ironhide, steadying the chains in one fist, barked a guttural sound when the ground made first contact with the skewering pieces of metal. "Slag it, Pest – it already hurts. Fragging drop me already."

"No! Don't-"

The Harrier did as he was bid, and the cracking impact from just two feet of altitude made Bluestreak flinch. Over the mech's howl, Ratchet hollered a string of what Lennox assumed were obscenities. "You stupid sack of slag, Ironhide! As if you weren't wrecked enough already!"

As Prowl took Magnus's hand to be hauled out of the water, Ironhide shuttered his optics and concentrated on keeping his panicked systems from shutting down by reflex. "You know me and welds, Ratch' - aiming for every part."

Ratchet muttered something that made Ironhide smirk weakly, and Bluestreak moved about them both to unhook the chains. Seemingly ignoring the multiple lengths of metal that were causing him to pour out as much energon as he was seawater, Ironhide opened his optics again and looked to Magnus. "Tell me."

Lennox followed his gaze with interest, sorely wanting a report himself. What he knew so far were titbits and murmurs across the dock, overheard from Autobots and Decepticons alike.

Magnus found himself looking to Tempest before he answered. The young Seeker, now drifting back to drop the chains before landing, had been silent since leaving the space bridge. But then, he conceded, he had witnessed the appearance of mutilated remains from a progenitor. Even with rape, Megatron was still Tempest's Creator, and that was in the spark – far removed from logic and reason.

"Megatron and Soundwave are dead," he replied at last, resisting the urge to exchange a look with Ratchet as the medic began field-patching leaks. "The remaining Decepticons have surrendered peacefully, and none made it to the Nemesis."

Ironhide gave a short nod at that, brow furrowing as he physically looked over the site and indentified bots. Ratchet had disabled his sensors along with a selection of his motor servos – likely so he wouldn't send one of the girders through his backstrut by fidgeting. He watched Tempest land and transform, immediately sagging into Thundercracker's waiting side, his optics dim with exhaustion. Skywarp was close by with Arcee, but he found no other Seeker in the sky.

His tanks stilled, and he told himself that his caring was only because there was a sparkling at stake. "Where's Screamer?"

Now Magnus did look to Ratchet, though he knew he wasn't wholly angry with him. Though putting him in danger, Prime's presence had also led to Megatron's death, and most certainly saved Tempest's life. Though he didn't condone what the medic had done, he understood why.

Ironhide found himself tensing as the question went unanswered. Finally, Tempest appeared at his shoulder. "He was with _Sire_ on the Nemesis. They sent me back."

Optics brightened so fiercely that the scars framing them glowed briefly. "Optimus was here?" His voice was soft and thick.

At Tempest's nod, Magnus stepped forward and placed a hand on the trembling Seeker's shoulder. "Ratchet brought him online and he appeared on the dock after you were submerged. He pursued Tempest and Starscream after Megatron through the spacebridge."

Ironhide looked to Tempest for confirmation with narrowed optics, mouth twisted at the unspoken response. Suddenly he was barely aware of the pain and couldn't tear his gaze from the Seeker he would call his own. Tempest looked distraught and traumatised, giving something for him to focus on aside from the cavern of his own emotions.

Ironhide raised a hand to get his attention, not pulling away when slim fingers curled around his wrist. "He's alive, 'Pest. I'd feel it if he weren't. And Screamer's probably alright, too. I've tried my damndest for centuries, and I never got him slagged. He sure as Pit ain't gonna get himself offlined when he's got a little'un on the way."

"What?" Magnus asked flatly, automatically looking to Ratchet with optics and sensors. Everyone but the medic and Ironhide bore matching expressions of confused surprise.

Ratchet gave no response but to bow his head a few inches, wholly focussed on melting joins between the crane's metal and Ironhide's armour. He couldn't extract them without a massive amount of energon to hand and First Aid's help, so the best he could do was make sure that they didn't move about against the mech's fractured innards during transit.

Ironhide answered for him, watching his hands work. "Screamer's carrying. They're due a femme in about two weeks."

"Less," Ratchet corrected softly, not looking up. "Seeker carriage seems to be shorter."

"Primus," Bluestreak muttered, vents quieting as his processor unwittingly considered what it would be like to be in Ratchet's position – with Luna absent, likely hurt and close to delivering. His spark clenched.

"All right, that's enough." Ratchet stood abruptly, welding tools transforming back to slot into his arms. "Magnus, you'll need to take Ironhide back on a flatbed trailer. I'll put him under for transit."

"We'll gather some tarp from the warehouses to cover him," Lennox informed, already moving off with radio in hand as Epps fell into step alongside. It felt like time was of the essence, and the sooner they got back to Base, the sooner they could try to contact Optimus.

"Wheeljack is disassembling the 'bridge to take back with us," Magnus said, quietly compiling a datafeed ready to disperse orders to the bots. "All the Decepticons have been accounted for, offline and not."

"What of Megaron's body?" Prowl asked, knowing that it was a question that had to be asked even if no one wanted to be the one to say it. Particularly in front of Tempest.

"We take it back with us," the Seeker replied, expression unreadable though it was clear that his own feelings on the matter were mixed.

* * *

I reboot quickly, my processor confronting me with a damage report before I can online my optics. The sparkling is in good condition and absorbing materials at peak efficiency; my energon supplies are down to a third; and the damage to my leg has been patched to stop the leaks and stabilise my hip and femoral strut. Unless Primus is very unimaginative, I am clearly still online.

It surprises me, but beyond the sparkling I can't decide if I'm glad of it or not. I think I am. She will live, and a cheap death is a coward's way out at this point. Prime has every right to take me apart piece by piece. Onlining my optics, I glance about the bridge to find him sat at Megatron's console, touching across the controls in smooth sweeps. The colour of his armour is indistinguishable in places from the coating of energon that has since dried on.

He's ignoring me.

My internal chronometer points out that a little under four hours have passed since he knocked me out, and no doubt it has passed in silence. I will not be the one to break it. It's a fragile thread of a thing that has kept him from simply killing me and, subsequently, my sparkling, and I will not dare to disturb it now.

I cannot guess as to what he's thinking, though the likely topics he could have been circling comprise a short list. Scanning the bridge more closely, I suppress a sigh. The explosion took out communications, and this far out into space our comm.s couldn't possible pick up a transmission from the ground, let alone send one out. The only things I know for certain are that Tempest is not here and Megatron is dead. These facts do not offer me anywhere near the solace that they should.

When Optimus stands I, embarrassingly, flinch, but he doesn't notice. He doesn't look at me as he crosses the bridge to retrieve a bundle of clear cables to hot-wire the console. Likely we both know that if he did, I wouldn't live for long after. Sitting again, he begins stripping the cables in short jerks. His hands are still unsteady, optics fluttering with too much thought, and my offer slips out in rush. "If you bring back a processor kit from the repair bay, I can take it away."

He stops and his optics bore into me. For my own sake I interpret his expression as unconvinced. If he kills me, he kills me. All I can do is try to undo as much of the damage I've caused as possible in the hope that he'll allow the sparkling to live. Pulling myself up with one hand on the console, I keep my shoulders low and posture unthreatening. It could be the slightest thing that sets him off. "I know the sequence markers. Ratchet wouldn't have been able to distinguish them from your memories, but I can isolate and remove them."

His voice is like old stone. "You think I'd allow you anywhere near my processor, my –body-, after this?" he grates, rising to his feet. "You say it isn't real, but it is real to me."

Prime doesn't move, stiff with rage and a plethora of emotions that I cannot understand, and I'm pinned still ten paces from him. He wouldn't accept my apology, no matter how grovelling and sincere, and I couldn't expect him to. Obsequiousness was something I could always put on when my life depended on it, but now when my optics drop to the deckplates it is with a genuine diffidence. "This won't stop until I do." Prime doesn't move, and I grit my dentals so as not to show fear. Stupidly, my processor retreats to old tactics before I can stop it. "And it doesn't help either of us to have you distracted like this."

A low, dangerous sound barks from his vents as he takes a thunderous step towards me, and now I do cringe. Seconds pass in silence, taut and thick with restraint. Prime's hands twitch before clamping into fists and I wait for the blow, but it doesn't come. The femme in my chassis shifts and I understand why. Shifting my weight, I risk meeting his stare. "I should take a look at the spacebridge. Depending on how damaged it is, I might be able to work it to send a one-way transmission back the way we came."

He considers me a moment longer before shaking his head once and moving back to the command chair, taking up the fistful of cabling once more. "I doubt that anything from the spacebridge is salvageable."

"If just one of the fuel pods survived-"

"Tempest had dropped a plasma bomb," he cuts in with finality. "I threw it in with Megatron. Everything's destroyed."

I feel my wings sink. "So we're stuck."

"So it would seem," he replies in a low hum, optics narrowing on the stripped wires. "I've been trying to access the ship's navigational controls but to no avail."

At last, something I can actually be useful with. "Any command controls are designed to be code-accessible through Soundwave and Megatron alone to prevent sabotage and lugnuts from causing harm. Wasn't the Arc designed the same way?"

Prime's optics flick to me before he answers to his hands, peeling away the thick skin on the last wires. "Only to prevent accidents and Deception infiltration. I had no reason to be so paranoid about my own crew."

A sarcastic retort about his idealistic trust is on my glossa but my processor engages fast enough to discard it. Instead I risk a few limps closer, gesturing to the open panel where he's already wrenched out the access hubs in the guts of the console. "I can get some kind of control through your console," I venture, fully aware that all I'm telling him is that I could do what he's been trying to for hours. To soften it a little, I add, "I've done it before."

Apparently he was waiting for me to offer as he immediately sets down the cabling and stands. "Fine. Whilst you're doing that, I'll get the kit," he tells me in flat tones, already moving towards the doorway.

I drag my leg the last few steps to the chair, stained and warm from his injuries. As I sit, I force myself to say it loud enough to be heard. "Thank you."

Prime stops in the open doorway, and he sounds weary in every sense of the word. "For what?"

Good question. "For letting me... try to fix some of this."

A short, blunt sound before the door closes behind him, and I press my body back into the chair with shuttered optics. I feel a dull urge to pray, but I fear that after everything I've done, Primus would only laugh at me.

* * *

Stabilised enough for the drive back to Base and roused in the Medbay, Ironhide had demanded that Ratchet finish with the other bots before beginning the long task of dealing with his own repairs. Conceding to reason the chief medic had done just that, and now some ten hours later stood over the dark mech whilst First Aid continued to monitor Hot Rod. Here, Ratchet had finally drawn the line, and was decided that Ironhide was not going to get his way no matter how sorry he felt for him.

"You ain't numbing me out, Ratch'," Ironhide repeated through clamped dentals, resolutely ignoring the vial of electrical inhibitors that would act as a painkiller in the mech's hand. "You ain't having me laid up useless when Optimus makes contact, and I won't be able to feed Forge with all that slag junking up my systems. Just keep talkin' to me and I'll be fine."

Ratchet arched a brow that was simultaneously sceptical, irate and weary. He'd long since become used to the mech's reluctance for pain suppressants because of their side-effects. It wasn't him wanting to 'tough it out,' though doubtless that played a part. It was the iron need for control that was stolen by the drugs. Ironhide worked daily with lethal substances and knew as well as Ratchet did what a distracted and compromised mind could do. It made him avoid such a state wherever possible.

There were limits, however, and given the extent of the damage he was faced with Ratchet decided that this was one of them. Grasping the shallowest of the impaling girders after a quick scan, he wordlessly turned it an inch and was motionless through Ironhide's rough shout.

The dark mech glared with narrowed optics, trying to stare the medic down until he finally, quietly murmured, "Just enough to take the edge off – no more."

"Fine," Ratchet snapped back, looking down again to seek out the best place to inject the solution. "But if you so much as twitch I'm filling your pumps. Forge is fine."

Ironhide watched in silence as Ratchet injected a third of the vial into a neural feed juncture in his side, feeling his parts turn cold as his lines were clogged. With no further word the medic began, and Ironhide settled back to listen to the buzz and crack of tools as the girders were sheared out. It hurt, and he felt every vibration and scrape against his protoform, but it was not the white agony of before. A part of him wished that Ratchet would talk, start one of his absent monologues to keep his processor occupied as he usually did when patching him up with as little pain relief as possible.

But he didn't, and the dark mech couldn't blame him. Ironhide flexed his fingers against the edge of the berth, knowing that he should offer something by way of support to the mech who's carrying partner was missing, possibly dead, and either way beyond their help. They'd known each other long enough for such platitudes to be unnecessary, easily and almost certainly shrugged off, but the gesture had to be made.

Ironhide found the words weren't forthcoming, however, drowned out by his own anxieties and the knot of fear that had only swollen since the start of the week. Optimus was supposed to be here, safe in recharge as he'd last seen him. Though he understood Ratchet's motives, he deeply resented the actions that had permitted his spark-suffering bonded to roar through a battlezone and be left trapped on the Nemesis. He needed to know what was happening on that ship as badly as Ratchet did.

"How was he, Ratch'?" The question was fast but not terse, spoken through a lancing spike as the first girder was finally extracted. Ratchet met his gaze, optics bright and twisting, synched to the scanner beaming from his chassis. "You're the only one he saw properly, and I can't feel it enough with this much distance. How was he?" He gritted his dentals as he felt energon pool out beneath him from the open wound, returning his stare to the ceiling. "And don't blunt the blade."

The medic bowed his head, considering the wet girder in his hands before twisting it into a knot and tossing it aside. He spoke to the wound as he fed long instruments through his fingers into the ragged hole, twisting off and sealing the larger lines ready to be rebuilt. It wasn't a question he wished to answer, though he knew that if their positions were reversed he'd want all the facts. Guilt still clutched at his spark alongside a myriad of emotions that only the professional focus of his job was keeping aside.

"Worse than I'd hoped," he replied at last. Ratchet huffed through his vents as if it could dispel his niggling conscience. He'd hidden the fact to spare harm, but now he feared that Ironhide had to know. "The fluxes were more persistent than we had first thought. Constant, even, for the four days he was in here. It explains why he was so… Traumatised."

Ironhide's fists clenched at the words, his head tipping back as his optics shuttered. He remained stiff and taut as Ratchet stabalised the chasm left by the first girder to extract the second one to pass alongside his backstrut, barely feeling it. "You just stopped the shaking, didn't you." The medic's apology and 'I did it for your own good' were implicit, and he ignored the earlier order to remain still by pressing a hand across his optics. "Can he come out of this, Ratch?" he asked softly, dreading the answer yet knowing that the other mech would give it as gently as possible.

Hesitating with several tools inside the second gouge, Ratchet fought to keep his expression neutral. His scanners chirped up alarms from the mech's systems, agitation in its most extreme form causing leaks to swell and already damaged circuitry overheat completely. That question had been dogging him since Tempest had hacked his Sire, damning them all with the knowledge that led them to their most savage battle and had ended in his and Ironhide's partners left hundreds of lightyears away. It was not a question he could answer yet with any confidence, and the dark mech was not one who appreciated platitudes.

Instead, and with Ironhide's gaze away from him, he refilled the vial and brought the needle's tip to the neural junction he had used before. "You're too damaged to be awake in this state," he intoned quietly, beginning to inject the solution before the mech could protest. "I won't keep you under any longer than I need to, I promise."

To his surprise, Ironhide made no objections during his final seconds of consciousness before his lines sagged and his optics dimmed. If Ratchet had needed evidence of how much the gruff bot could feel beneath that legendary armour, then this was it.

* * *

Removing the section of code, so neatly embedded aside from its one flaw to resist ignoring by Optimus's processor, had taken minutes. Starscream had conducted the work as quickly as possible, wholly focussed on the task of lifting and purging away the data that had incited the Autobots to end the war through bloodthirstiness alone. Optimus hadn't spoken when he was done, merely shuttered his optics as he ran an internal scan and sighed when the ghostly touches faded away completely. The Seeker had closed his helm for him and withdrawn a few unsteady steps, uncertain as to what to do next.

After a long pause spent marvelling at the peace in his systems aside from the substantial pain in his side, Optimus's flicked his gaze to the waiting mech's before returning his attention to the console. "I need navigational control. Sensors. Anything you can get."

Starscream felt a sudden urge to express obedience, or gratitude that he wasn't dead yet, but the foreign feeling passed quickly and he simply shifted down to his knees and pulled away at the panel. Bracing one hand against his swollen chassis, he shifted onto his back and into the console's wiring, lights casting harsh shadows amongst the wiring. Silently he was grateful to have a technical task to occupy himself with. Simply waiting and trying to guess at the larger mech's emotional and mental state was excruciating.

He made the necessary bypasses and hacks in less time that he'd anticipated, and heard Optimus's hands begin to work the controls. Clearly he'd been doing nothing but wait himself, where Starscream had predicted he'd finally slip into recharge. A sleeping mech would have granted him several hours with only impending threat, rather than immediate.

"We're moving," Optimus confirmed following a short chirp from the console, hands sweeping over the controls even as the Seeker extracted himself from the bridge's internals. "We'll come to a geosynchronous orbit above the Base in ninety-six hours."

Starscream gave a jerked nod as he sat up, repositioning his leg with both hands. Though stabalized, the limb was still weak and hurt to move. "I'm managed to bypass all the safety protocols. You won't be able to seal anywhere off if there's a fire, but you'll have free run of the ship."

The larger mech sat back in the chair and ran a hand across his optics, vents issuing a wet sigh as more of Megatron's and his own fluids found their way out. He hadn't had the chance to clear it all off yet, though he'd found the cleansing wipes in the repair bay.

"We need to send a transmission to Earth." He didn't need to point out the obvious problem that much of the communications array had been destroyed, the transmitters having been shared with the spacebridge. "Their planetside defences will be enough to disable the ship if they don't know that it is us controlling it, and I don't much enjoy the thought of being radiated."

Sitting beside the console and with Optimus's gaze averted, Starscream allowed himself to frown outright at the ongoing use of 'we' and 'us.' But then, he reasoned, this was a matter of survival, and their best chances were in working together. Optimus may have been able to restructure and control the Arc singlehandedly, but he needed the seeker to operate the Nemesis effectively.

In regards to communication, Starscream had already been turning the quandary through his processor and had found a solution. "My comm.'s fine, and there are ways I can boost the signal enough to get it to Earth before we do." He would spare the mech the arduously complex technical details.

Now Optimus did look at him, head cocked slightly and optics narrowed. "The amount of power you're talking about…"

Would burn out more than a few vital components, I know, Starscream finished internally with an arched brow. Not relishing the Prime's stare, he considered his damaged leg again with gentle fingers. "The sparkling is insulated."

"Not enough," Optimus replied flatly, with conviction. "I have two sons and know significantly more about sparkbaring than you. Enough to send a message to Earth would overcharge the umbilical lines and kill you both."

There was a long, acerbic silence as both mech's considered their hands and options. Finally Optimus stood, one fist still resting against the console. "You'll need an anchor. I can redirect and siphon that much power through the Matrix and back into the ship if we linked systems."

Starscream optics were wide and bright when he looked up, surprise laced with increasing alarm. "You're talking about synching processors. –Merging- our –core- processors." It was very close to a sparkmerge, though with data exchanged more freely than emotion, no matter how unwillingly.

Optimus would know everything.

How he had been the one to squeeze the life from the youngest sparklings at the nursery. His remorselessness over too many inhumane acts to count. The fact that he had pulled up the Prime's medical schematics to work out how Megatron's probing hands would lie in his chassis, attending to every detail of the fictional assault. The pressure sensors in his hips. The dimensions of his mouth.

"Prime," he started, voice thick with uncertainty as he bit out the title. The mech's optics flashed, daring the Seeker to go on. He didn't.

"There is little you need concern yourself with trying to hide from me, Starscream," Optimus murmured, taking a step closer before kneeling in front of and over the mech. "And for your own sake I hope that I already know firsthand the worst that you are capable of."

With nothing to say to that, and away that this truly was their one option, Starscream nodded. Optimus rose to his feet again, turning towards the door. "Make the necessary arrangements with the ship's systems here. I'll assemble what we need for the link."

Starscream bit his glossa as the tall mech left, remaining still in the sudden oppressive quiet of the bridge long after the doors had shut. There was no way the ship was going to be big enough for the both of them after this.

* * *

Ratchet had kept his word and revived Ironhide as soon as he was sufficiently repaired, if stiff and sore no matter how little he moved. Instructed to refuel and try to keep himself as restful as possible before tonight's debriefing, Ironhide had ignored the suggestion of going to his shared quarters and headed for the rec room, where a good proportion of the Base seemed to have holed up. He could hear a burble of voices low with speculation and anxiety from across the adjoining canteen, getting a cube of energon from the kitchen area before walking through the rows of tables and benches to the popular room at the end.

The sound died away once he entered though, several bots meeting his gaze before quietly taking themselves out. Ultra Magnus lingered from where he stood behind the sofa, one hand resting on the oversized cushion above Tempest's recharging form, until Prowl motioned with his head and a soft click for them to go. Bumblebee sat between the Seeker and the television with Sam and Mikaela in his lap, quietly guarding all three youngsters, and only stopped in beginning to get to his feet with a wave from Ironhide. Curled against Tempest's chassis inside the curve of his cradling arm, Forge stirred from his own slumber with an enquiring chirp.

"Yeah, bitlet, it's me," Ironhide crooned softly, leaning over Bumblebee to scoop up the sparkling in one hand before gingerly sitting against Tempest's legs on the sofa. Putting the cube on the arm of the sofa, he played his fingers against his son's grasping hands. "You can quit trying to sneak out with the rest of them, Lennox – I know you're there."

Both soldiers stopped from where they had been tracking the wall behind the sofa to follow the other Autobots out, exchanging a look before coming around to join the small group that was left. Epps's face was a stony mask, thick with emotion and reticent to let any of it show. Lennox, on the other hand, allowed a concerned frown to mar his features as he met his guardian's stare. "How're you doing, 'Hide?"

Bumblebee arched a brow at the simple and rather blunt question, shifting fractionally to look up at the older mech. Ironhide didn't answer immediately, concentrated on extending a feeding line to Forge from his chassis and taking a sip of energon to begin to compensate for the drain. "'bout as good as Ratchet is," he finally replied, adjusting the feeding sparkling to lay his other hand over Tempest's rounded ankles. The Seeker didn't stir, deep in recharge he'd been sorely needing. Ironhide looked between the soldiers, Bumblebee and the teens crouched in his lap. "Where is everyone?"

Sam waited for someone else to speak before realising that he was the only one who'd been listening in on the various conversations taking place. Mikaela had been talking to Bumblebee and tinkering with a minor laceration on his arm to keep her hands busy; Lennox and Epps had been holed up talking to Magnus and Prowl about the upcoming briefing in the corner; and he'd found his mind drifting all over the place as the events of the last week washed over him.

"Uh, a lot of them are out in the Yard with the now-former Decepticons, disarming them, I think," he began, running a hand through his hair. "Thundercracker's with Wheeljack trying to put the spacebridge back together; Skywarp's flown off AWOL style; Arcee and Luna are in the monitor room; and most everyone else you just saw leave." The trail-off was as awkward as said evacuation of the room had been.

"Hot Rod was moved to his quarters a while ago," Bumblebee added, optics bright and rich with concern. "He's going to make a full recovery."

It warmed the small mech to see Ironhide smile a little at that, raising the cube to his jaw. "Sorry about that. Should've let Devestator choke on him and saved the hassle."

Lennox brushed his thumb across his nose, suppressing what he felt was an inappropriate smile at the sardonic remark. "The debriefing is still on for 22:00, but Magnus says that the 'Cons have already sworn fealty to Optimus and Tempest, and the Autobots by extension."

"Worked out the big guy is a Prime from what he did to Soundwave's face, I reckon," Epps proposed with folded arms, giving Lennox a sidelong glance and finding him agreeing.

"Been a long time since one's been sparked. Optimus was the youngest," Ironhide replied almost absently, his gaze lowered to his son's half-lidded optics. He could see so much of them both in him, and his arm tightened fractionally around the sparkling as he thought it. "Wouldn't take much processing power to see that 'Pest's something special."

Shunting a sigh through his vents, the dark mech glanced across the occupants of the room again, feeling a twinge of unease at their undivided attention in such in informal circumstance. He wasn't a great orator – he was a weapons house, fluent only in making things cease to function or exist. It had been making him question his ability to talk to Optimus about everything that had happened when he came back – and he –would- come back. But now, with Optimus missing and faced with questioning faces, he had no choice but to try his best to reassure them despite his own sparkache.

He nodded to Tempest lying beside him, curled in Lennox's mind just as Annabel would on a battered sofa. "Thing to remember, though, is that 'Pest is still just a babe, and if things were different he'd be laying up next to Forge and squabbling over this feeding line. You can't treat him like everyone's treating me over what's happened to Optimus." A grunted laugh and he shook his head a little. "It ain't helping me."

"What would help?" Mikaela asked after a pause, having felt the invisible weight of the question in the room and knowing for certain that none of the males present would have said it.

Ironhide quirked a thin smile, optics flicking to her with subdued gratitude. Picking up the cube again, he sat back against the sofa with a grimace before shifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Got a lot of time to kill before this briefing that I'm supposed to spend not doing much, and I missed most of the fight…"

Bumblebee made a low warbled sound that Sam couldn't quite identify, though he guessed it pretty much matched his own feelings. Shifting his weight on his feet, Lennox grinned and folded his arms. Even alien robot soldiers relied on black humour in bleak times. "Well, quite a lot happened while you were getting cosy with the crane, as it happens."

The teens's eyes widened at the jovial remark, and their brows raised even more when Ironhide rumbled a soft laugh in response. "Yeah, taking down Devestator wore me out a bit. Thought I'd recharge a little with the fishes and let you lot deal with the rest."

"Missed a hell of a fight," Epps grinned, turning and raising his hands like a batsman. "'Swipe had Carnage swinging around like a bat clearing out the mini-cons. Damndest thing I ever saw."

The dark mech smirked around the cube, finally emptying it and setting it aside. He didn't protest when Bumblebee rose to fetch more, trying to guess from Epps's gesticulations if anyone had been able to catch one of the homerun Cons.

* * *

It took almost three hours for Starscream to gut, splice and jury-rig a means of transmitting a short message across the gulf of space. He'd managed to mimic the process of temporarily creating subspace pockets to shorten the journey, the means they used to co-ordinate troops in the past on a small scale. It was an achievement he would have been proud of were he not so anxious about the upcoming link.

Optimus appeared just as he was finishing, a thick band of varying cables looped around his arm. His chassis plates were flared, though not opened, admitting eight thick lines to the Matrix housed within. It had taken a frustratingly long time to get the plates to open even in the solitude of the repair bay, particularly given that this wasn't his first time doing this. There would be two neural lines into his helm and several linking him to the ship's power grid, the rest making up a lattice between himself and the Seeker as he rerouted the dangerously excess power from around his major systems.

Knowing that it would take Starscream a few hours to make preparations, and that they would be best spent apart, Optimus had cleaned himself and improved on his patchier repairs with a welding arc. Exploring the repair bay, he'd been pleased to find a chemical bath stowed to one side, something he'd not seen since the Ark. It was designed to hold and regulate a soup of energon, lubricants, oxygen, silicon and minerals to facilitate gentle and effective self-repair. Akin to being fed by an umbilical sack, the bath allowed a submerged bot to harvest compounds and regenerate without the trauma of surgery or grafts. It had taken him an hour to fill it correctly, and the solution would last months.

"I'll have a twenty second window," Starscream said, not looking up from where he sat twisting wire bundles together. "And I don't think my comm. will be up to another transmission over any real distance even with you grounding me. Do you know what you want to say?"

Lowering himself opposite the angular mech, Optimus nodded and held up the neural lines. "Authorization codes, that we're safe, ETA and some other details." His mouth quirked behind the faceplate, dentals tightening. "There's room for you to add something to Ratchet."

"It's okay," Starscream dismissed, his expression unreadable. He took the cable bundle handed to him and began plugging the ends alongside the lines connecting him to the ship. Optimus sifted through the tangled mess in the open deckplate to find the main power lines, and carefully attached himself ready to feed the energy harmlessly back. The neural lines connecting their helms were the last to go in, and Optimus sent the package across as his nod. After a moment of rechecking his side ports, Starscream gave a short, committing nod. "Ready when you are."

Neither of them were ready, truly, for what this would entail, but Optimus had experience with shielding his mind from the potential overspills of a link. The first time, when he and Ratchet had had to send a distress call to Iacon from outside their comm. range, his processor had been a shattered mess of himself and the medic. Only experience would defend his privacy, and there was nothing he could do about Starscream's thoughts.

Activating his connections with the ship's systems raised a whine between them, and Starscream fidgeted minutely with closed optics. Optimus watched him in a similar position of crossed legs and a straight back, projecting an aura of calm that he clung to as much as he spited Starscream with it.

"Ready on my mark," the Seeker instructed, lining up the package and instructing his systems to power up ready to transmit with an incredible boost. He felt only a vague, warm readiness from Optimus, their processors still shielded despite the neural lines connecting them. That precious separation would soon evaporate.

"Mark."

It was as intimate as a sparkmerge, raw energy searing through one another and briefly, blindly, binding them. But where a sparkmerge was warm mental flesh caressing and enveloping, this was meat rubbed raw, sprayed with salt and mashed against one another without fineness or care. There was none of the drunken warmth. Instead it was a cold and closely impersonal exchange of energy as the two mechs effectively became part of the same circuit.

Sending the message hurt, and Starscream clutched his helm as he felt his parts singe and recoil from one another. It would have crippled him alone, he realised, given the mountain of energy he could feel blasting into Optimus and being harmlessly deflected back into the ship's systems. The sparkling was an oasis of calm in his chassis, carefully bypassed and safe even as her sire's body shook.

It was not purely the sensation that made him shudder, but that he could feel his thoughts slipping out to offer themselves to Optimus. Guilt and grief increased in his spark tenfold as the hours he had put into safeguarding his sparkling from Megatron were shared, and he dimly heard Optimus bark resistance as what it was like to experience repeated, vivid 'memories' of rape for four days were fed back to him. The countdown to stop was automated, impossibly slow against the roar of power and memory that swarmed between them, and Starscream gasped gratefully when it all, abruptly, ended. He fell back still clutching his helm, tearing out the neural lines with his fists before roughly disconnecting the rest to leave his body an island again. Sprawled with his cooling vents running at capacity and screaming alarms, he gradually onlined his optics to see how the other mech had fared.

Optimus remained sitting with his hands draped in his lap, though the calm visage was undermined by the twists of smoke rising from the gaps in his chassis. His optics remained offline and expression taut as he routed the last of the charge into the ship's engines. The bulk of his processor remained fixed on what Starscream had unwittingly transmitted to him.

After several minutes, with the message sent and the Seeker silent, Optimus carefully disconnected himself from the bundle between them and pushed himself up to one knee.

Starscream watched the Prime watch him with mounting confusion and irritation. Before he could actually voice those feelings, consequences be damned, a band of mounting pressure formed, peaked and receded in his chassis. He hugged himself with one arm as the sparkling moved, mouth curled in a sneer. Optimus had -known- that that would trigger her to come.

"You need energon," Optimus stated flatly as he got fully to his feet, chest plates locking back into place. "There is still time before you will need to go to the repair bay. I suggest you conserve your energy."

With that, the big mech bent to scoop up the cables and retreated from the bridge. He would return with several cubes to leave with the Seeker whilst in the preamble of labour before resting himself in the repair bay. He had much to think about, and desperately needed solitude and silence to do it.

* * *

I had an hour to myself before Prime came back, fidgeting with the first pains of labour and thinking about how much I wish I were at home. The irony that I'm on the Nemesis – my home for many centuries – with this wish does not escape me. I don't know when the Autobot base became home. Perhaps when Tempest was onlined. When Thundercracker and Skywarp came. When I began fragging Ratchet. When I realized that I actually cared about Ratchet, and the rest.

It was the first morning after she was sparked, I think. I came out of recharge feeling like reheated slag and Ratchet had already started scanning and fussing before I woke up. That was when I decided home was with the stupid Autobots.

And they are stupid – me included for what I've done, and Prime certainly for still dithering over what to do with me for it. I got a trace back from him in the link, much as he was resisting. A good part of him wants to kill me for what I put him through, and whatever it is that's stopping him I couldn't decipher.

I'd gotten myself into the command chair and checked that we were still on course when he steps onto the bridge. He approaches me without hesitation, putting one hand on my back between my wings to usher me upright. "Come on. If birth is as accelerated for Seekers as carriage is, then you need to be in the repair bay."

"Don't start coddling me, Prime." It's more disturbing than it is irritating.

He says nothing and moves away, giving me space and knowing damn well that I'll follow. Even with my leg this damaged I wouldn't let him help me walk, but I'll follow his lead.

It's very rarely that I'm out of my depth, and labour is one of those areas where cold facts are useless to the one actually undergoing it. I know the process, procedures and risks, but I don't know if these bands of sensation and normal. Whether I should be this afraid and full of dread.

My thoughts occupy me until I'm standing at the threshold to the repair bay. It's warm and the lighting is at half brightness. Prime motions me to a bath of dark sludge – the chemical bath. A coward's tool.

"Is this thing one of those birth pools the fleshies use to have their worm babies?"

He's irritatingly unfazed by my disdain. "It's a standard chemical bath, and much better than an energon drip," he tells me, optics dipping over the faceplate as he watches the liquid. "It would have been my preference had I had the choice."

I shift my wings around another wave of aching pressure, unsure as to what to do with that remark. He continues to watch me, finally motioning with one hand. "If you can't get in by yourself…"

Apparently I don't have a choice in the matter, and climb into the thing with only a hiss when the pain hits a new peak. Sunk up to my neck in the viscous mix, the aches and burns persisting throughout my systems ease dramatically and the warmth soothes my lines. Sat against the straight sides, though, I can't get comfortable, and I know that for the next few hours I'll need to grasp whatever comfort I can get.

Prime rests a hand on the ledge. "Shift forward."

I don't need to see the reflection in his mask to know that my expression is ridiculous. "What?"

His optics flicker with a mix of weariness and exasperation, touching one hand gingerly to his ruined side. "I would benefit from several hours in there myself, and much as you might want to believe it, you can't meant to do this on your own. No one is."

I move forward to make room against my better judgement, guilt and some inflection inherent in a Prime's voice making me obedient. "So you'd just do this for anyone?"

His optics darken, body pausing. "I'm doing it for you."

Well, I did walk into that one.

It's not as tight a fit when Prime finally gets in as I'd thought, though the disruption makes me bare my teeth as the ache turns into a hot burn. I can feel my parts churning, making room as my lines flex to arrange and push the sparkling fractionally upwards. The pain steals all resistance from me, and I find myself leaning back into Prime's chassis with his knees on either side of me, my wings behind his legs.

I don't think there is such a thing as dignified labour, so frag it.

"Primus, that's better," I murmur with very little care that he hears it. The position mimics a raised Medbay berth, his sparkpulse is just noticeable against my wings and this magic goop has found a way into everywhere. Despite the comparative bliss, though, the question persists: "Why are you helping me?"

There's a silence that causes me to think that he's wondering that very thing himself, and that only sheer habit of goodwill has brought him this far. Finally, though, he rests his fists on the ledge of the bath on either side of me.

"You betrayed the Autobots, knowingly endangered my son to suit your needs and raped my mind with an assault that replayed itself for days." His voice does not raise or accelerate, which makes it worse. I'm suddenly very aware of my position, and can't help but shift when his fists flex.

"However," he goes on with a subtle sigh, "You are having the sparkling of one of my oldest and closest friends and, despite everything you've done, you are sorry. Selfish and stupid, yet also sorry."

I can tell that it isn't forgiveness he's offering me, but an explanation as to why he's helping me birth this child. He can just as easily kill me later. "Thanks." He says nothing to that and I consider our reflection in the fluid, smeared but sharp enough to make out his body language. Twisting my thumbs through the mix, I force my vocaliser to function. "I can't justify what happened. It all got out of control. I sent Tempest back because I realised-"

I shift against him as the pain swells through my chassis, spreading down deep into my protoform. Dropping my chin down, I shutter my optics and grit my dentals. "What are you going to do with me?"

His hand on my arm is in no way reassuring. "One thing at a time."

* * *

They waited in near-silence in the bath for an hour before Starscream went into hard labour. His body stiffened with each long pulse of pain as parts were wrenched and twisted clear, his fingers leaving scratches about the sides of the bath. The minutes between each contraction were no respite as his body inched closer to releasing the sparkling.

"Primus, this must be over soon," he bit out, shifting against the larger mech's chassis again to resist arching his back."

"It isn't. Your chassis is still sealed." Optimus remained still behind him, watching the twitches and twists in the Seeker's backstrut. His own injuries were vastly improved, the pain in his side easily ignored as his mind went back to his own experience of bringing sparklings into the world. Forge, specifically. "Don't tense against it," he advised smoothly, though flatly. "Move with the pain. It will help."

The next pain crashed through harder, and Starscream discarded pride completely to curl and twist with it, one hand braced against the other mech's knee. "You may as well kill me and tear her out of me," he growled at the end of a groan. "It'll be better than what the rest will do to me when we get back."

Unseen, Optimus bowed his head and rubbed his optics, long overdue to recharge. The bath was fuelling and energising them both, but his processor craved a few dormant hours. At last, he replied, "The Autobots will heed my wishes."

Pain and bitter resignation made Starscream bold. Mechs weren't designed for this. "And those are?"

Optimus straightened a little at the tone, frowning with intent. He had been giving the labouring Seeker time, but if he had the conversational energy for sarcasm than he'd make use of it. "Tell me what happened."

At the non sequitur Starscream grimaced, dentals clamped uncertainly. "You want me to justify myself? Beg?" The last was coughed against a rising pain.

A rumbled sounded as Optimus shifted his chassis parts, allowing the dark liquid access to his spark, the Matrix and the scorched connectives around both. "No, not beg. Just tell me what happened to bring us to this point."

Starscream jerked with a bark he couldn't suppress, optics shuttering against the mounting feeling of entrapment. "Frag it, Prime, he'd have tortured her to death."

"She would have been safe. None of us would have let Megatron take her."

A scoff at that, figuring now that he had nothing to lose. "If his own failures took me a week to recover from, what do you think my defection would incite? And not just that, but for bringing the other Seekers across and having a sparkling with a fragging Autobot?" He shook his head, slumping down deeper into the viscous fluid and the mech's chest. "No – he'd hurt me as best he could, and leave us all alive to suffer it going after her. But even if he did kill all three of us, if she were safe, it wouldn't matter."

The willingness to die, especially as the cost for allowing his daughter to survive unharmed, rang true to Optimus's audios. His motivations for the underhanded and over-reacted attack were, at least, noble. Knowing perfectly well the loquaciousness of the Seeker, Optimus waited.

It was ten minutes and a substantial increase in discomfort before Starscream went on, as much to distract himself from the pain as to make some sort of peace. "It was only supposed to make you flux once. Just bad enough to incite them all. To make them want revenge on your behalf."

Optimus made a low, ugly sound at that. "Had what you fabricated been what had actually happened, I still would not have wanted any of them to respond with such violence."

Starscream dared to glance back over his shoulder, narrowed optics meeting. "That's you, and the same damn humility that stops you from letting them shield you, -Prime.-" An arch of pain, worse than the last, cut him off for a full minute before he could go on gaspingly. "They all wondered and seethed over Tempest's creator from the start, and they all knew that you'd be against that fight. But they needed it. They thought that the symbol of all that was the best of them had been defiled – a crime that couldn't go unpunished. Magnus and Tempest took over and announced a fight to the death, and every one of your peace-hunting Autobots hungered for it to start."

Optimus bared his dentals behind the mask, gripping the sides of the bath. "My son should not have been in a fight to the death over a lie. The trauma you caused him-"

"He thought it'd redeem his origins, Optimus," Starscream shouted back, his hands coming together into a fist above the sparkling. "He wanted to kill his creator so the shadow of his conception might leave. To prove to the Autobots that he was truly and unequivocally one of them. Pit, to prove it to himself. You telling him that he's loved even if he's not Ironhide's but the product of your greatest enemy, who cracked you open and forced a sparkling on you with nothing like your consent, was never going to give him the fragging closure that being angry enough to rip out Megatron's spark might. You may not think that being forced to conceive and carry an unwanted mech's sparkling is an attack of the grossest kind, but the rest of us do, even if the fragging bastard –hadn't- tweaked your bearings into overload."

The tirade, delivered uninterrupted by contractions, left the Seeker near-exhausted. He sagged back with a hand pressed against his optics, the other rubbing helplessly at his pained plates. "I don't know how in the Pit you've done this twice."

Stillness for a moment, and then Optimus shifted to bring a hand around the mech to feel his chassis. "You'll know when you see her, which won't be long now. The seal's broken."

Slumped and motionless, Starscream murmured a soft 'oh' before moving forwards at Optimus's nudge. When the tall mech was stood dripping out of the bath, he shifted, feeling lost in the sudden space with the pains creeping into new notes.

"Here," Optimus offered with an extended hand, placing and locking the other on the mech's back. Once taken so that he could brace, Stascream nodded shallowly with gratitude and pushed the bell curves of his feet against the end of the bath.

"Open and let me see."

The cockpit slid aside as the parts of his chassis ease apart, the foreign configuration of the movements needed to expose the sparkling making Starscream groan. Optimus ran a quick scan over the curled femme, smiling as he found every umbilical line cleanly disconnected and a strong spark pulsing away.

"She okay?" Starscream bit out with a trace of fear, one that Optimus wholly recognised. He started when the mech let go of his hand, stilling again when it moved to his chassis.

"Yes, as you'll see in a moment," Optimus assured, readying himself to effectively catch the small wet being. "This is the hardest part."

A barked laugh. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Brace as if you were about to transform," he went on, bringing the hand at the Seeker's back up to straighten him. "It will bring her straight out into my hand."

Arching again and with shuttered optics, Starscream grasped the sides of the bath with enough strength to leave shallow dents in the tough metal. "You make it sound so easy."

Optimus couldn't help but smile a little at the accusation, which was very similar to what he'd said more than once to Ratchet whilst labouring with Forge. He was a little envious that the Seeker had passed through the stages with such speed, though he didn't seem to be spared any of the pain reserved for poorly-designed carrying mechs. "I know it isn't, but do it. Brace, and then you'll see her."

It was a simple instruction to follow with a straightforward and overwhelming reward. Dropping his shoulders and clamping his dentals, Starscream drew in a gasp of the cool, oxygenated fluid through his main vents and did as he was bid. Imagined his thighs about to twist and lock back to form a jet's tail, his cockpit shunting down and out, his chassis coming apart and coming together again for the bulk of the transformation. It hurt worse than his first transformation with sand in his parts but the route was the same, and he felt the pain raise exponentially as a weight lurched forward over his spark and was suddenly gone.

On one knee, Optimus cradled the sparkling in his palm whilst his other arm drew Starscream closer and into the corner of the bath, keeping him upright. Quickly arranging the femme against the Seeker's side, partially immersed in the fluid, he rubbed his fingers in gentle, vigorous circles over her tiny wings and back. The gold-tinted sparkling shifted, hands finding purchase in her sire's plates, and finally chirped a high series of clicks and whistles at being disturbed.

Starscream's expression was a mixture of awe and shock, optics wide on the tiny being that purred into his palm when he raised his hand to support her as Optimus had. She was astonishing to him – a perfectly formed Seeker, born for the sky from his own chassis. Her hands were fine and complex, like Ratchet's, matching her miniature wings that shifted in a coating of lubricants.

"Has she a name?" Optimus asked softly, watching the stunned mech marvelling at his daughter. It was a privilege to see, because he never would have been able to imagine it. Strangely, it suited him.

"Tink," Starscream replied dumbly, surprising himself with the choice. There had been options circulating between himself and Ratchet from since the sparkling was at the halfway point in carriage, but he'd pushed them all aside when he'd thought that he wouldn't live to see his daughter, let alone name her.

Optimus nodded a little, deciding that the sweet, crisp sounding word was a very suitable choice for the daughter of two scientifically minded bots. "It's a good name."

At the praise Starscream's face plates tightened with naked grief, his hands curling about Tink's body even as his own remained gaping open. He met Optimus's optics with anguished ones, his mouth twisted. "Please don't take her from me." That, he knew, was begging, but he didn't even remotely care. He shook his head a little, optics shuttering before fixing on the sparkling once more, as if worried that taking his gaze from her would lead to losing her. "I deserve death by your hand, I know that, but pity me this once. Don't make me lose her."

Optimus held the red gaze, dark and blurred at the edges now, for long seconds before looking to the sparkling again. "I understand why you did this, and that it did not go as you had intended," he began at last, his words coming slowly and carefully as he composed them from thoughts that had been brewing for hours. "I won't banish or execute you, but sentence you to imprisonment with the Autobots and your own guilt, without anyone knowing that you are a prisoner."

Starscream lay frozen, spark tight in his chest and hyperaware of the sparkling purring against him. Optimus's optics narrowed fractionally, but enough to intensify his expression before he looked down. "They cannot know of what you did. Enough harm's been caused, and if they take some kind of solace in the belief that they were helping me… You were right in part, Starscream – it was an assault. I didn't allow myself to see it as such, though everyone around me suspected. I will tell them that the flux was… an enhancement of what actually happened. That it wasn't as atrocious as the act you orchestrated and fed to us all to capitulate to your own misguided ends. I will play the recovered victim, and you will be a prisoner to your own lie."

The hand that Optimus set on Starscream's shoulder made him shift, though the Seeker continued to listen and watch with bright optics as the Prime continued. "If I kill you the truth will come out and Tempest won't have made amends with his origins by believing himself to have avenged me, and will lose all faith, trust and love in you. He'll kill you if Ironhide doesn't get to you first. My family needs to heal, and you will only destroy yours by confessing. After everything he has sacrificed to me, for my cause, I will not have Ratchet crippled in spark by making you tell him the truth. Only you deserve to be punished. You cannot bond with him, because he will not bear this. He cannot know."

At that instruction, Starscream found himself finally looking away and towards the fluid of the bath. It was more than he deserved, he knew, but it was much harder than death. Tink chirped again, causing him to run a thumb across his wings, and he shuttered his optics, wholly grateful.

Optimus's words lost no power in the darkness of his offlined optics.

"You have safeguarded your daughter – that cannot be argued, but you've damned yourself until the end of your days, and you'll pay in dividends. You are my son's sworn guardian, a mech he idolises, and you fragged my mind and spark for days to make him do your bidding. And I know that you love him. Guilt, and hiding your guilt, is your life sentence, Starscream, and if you try to escape it with an impulsive confession, I will banish you and keep your child amongst us. You deserve no quick death, and enough damage has already been done."

Numb with exhaustion and disbelief, Starscream forced his optics online with a tipped head, vents wheezing even as the fluid fed energy directly into his protoform and soothed the damage of labour. He couldn't comprehend the regal mech's expression, and his brows narrowed when the corner plates of his optics shifted as if he were, perhaps, smiling behind the mask.

"Now," Optimus said suddenly, nodding to Tink. "I'll show you how to feed her and remove the umbilical lines. You'll be staying in the bath now until we reach Earth."

Starscream would have nodded if he had the energy, his chin dropping to his chassis again to watch the sparkling mouth at his fingers. "Thank you, Prime."

Optimus braced one hand against the ledge of the bath to bring himself upright, ready to go to the space in the repair bay where he had laid out the necessary equipment when Starscream had first gone into labour. "You will not be able to thank me again, Starscream, but you are welcome."

* * *

_Reviews, long or shot, detailed or not, really does make writing easier. There's nothing more motivating than having someone say they're enjoying what you're putting out and looking forward to more. Otherwise it's a bit like folding stories into paper airplanes and throwing them out of a window._


	7. Chapter 7

_I've made it an unofficial rule now that when a chapter exceeds 20 pages and still isn't halfway finished, it's worth thinking about posting it as its own chapter, otherwise the bloody thing's gonna take forever and will require meal breaks to read._

_Apparently a load of 'stuff' needed to happen before the big finale, so here is said 'stuff'. It's a much lighter chapter as well, so I hope you enjoy the read. A lot of Ironhide/Ratchet interaction in this one. :)  
_

* * *

Pitch

_Chapter Six_

_

* * *

_

"_I don't understand why you're doing this," Optimus offered quietly, his posture stiff with concern as he hovered at their berthside._

_Pressing a fist into his chassis against the last resounding volley of kicks, Ironhide fought to keep the wearied exasperation out of his voice. "Nothin' to understand. I – -we- wanted another little'un and it's only fair that I get a turn playing piñata."_

_Optimus's features softened momentarily, only to be drawn again at a sharp _clang _from beneath the dark mech's spark chamber. Its aim was getting better every day, Ironhide decided with a sigh as he twisted to lie back fully on the berth. He rubbed a hand over his optics, feeling sick, tired and thoroughly abused. "Primus – I swear the little slagger's got a gun in there already."_

_A pale hand moved to his helm, touching along his jaw before coming to entwine with his own digits against his chassis. _

"_You didn't need to protect me from this," Optimus murmured, shifting to kneel and bring their optics close._

_Ironhide frowned, hand tightening about the one that held his. "'Do anything for you, love."_

_Smiling a little, Optimus brought his other hand to touch his sparkmate's jaw. "I know you would."_

* * *

Ironhide jerked awake with online optics blankly fixed on the all-too-familiar ceiling of the Medbay. It took long moments for the last vestiges of the dream to slide away.

"That was weird," he muttered to the room, frowning and moving a hand to rub his optics. The surge of pain from his chassis froze him with a curse, and suddenly the sensations of the dream made sense. He pressed his fingers over the welds he'd awoken with just hours ago in turn, probing the damage as much as willing the pain down. "Primus, Ratch' – what'd you do? Stab me some more? I thought we did this already."

"Well if some idiot hadn't wanted to be –dropped- rather than lowered," the medic's drawled voiced came from overhead and away, "then you'd doubtless be in significantly less discomfort than you are now. Got ahead of your healing in the rec room and went to the slagging floor. Nearly gave the humans myocardial infarctions."

Now he remembered. He'd commed Jazz to get a blow-by-blow account of what sounded to be a reasonable spectacular skirmish in the middle of the fight, and then moved to slap him across the back of the helm as he usually did when the little mech started hyperbolising to the nth degree. Something had wrenched apart in his freshly-repaired chassis, he vaguely remembered seeing something leak out, and then the floor had come up to greet him very quickly. It was, technically, his own fault that he was waking up in the Medbay again.

However, Ironhide glowered openly when Ratchet's face appeared above him, optics bright and twitching in scans. His voice curled. "'Discomfort'? Wait 'til I get up and I'll show you fragging –discomfort-."

Ratchet arched a brow, impassive. "I haven't given you anything for the pain, just as you asked. For Forge."

Optics shuttered in a habitual blink as he recalled, and Ironhide suddenly looked away with faint embarrassment. "Yeah. Yeah, right." His vents shunted noisily as he checked his systems, stifling the wince now as damage details filtered up into his processor afresh. He'd learnt his lesson now, though.

There was a long silence as Ratchet continued his scans, waiting, before Ironhide spoke. "Any news?"

The medic shook his head fractionally, cutting off the scans with a satisfied grunt and nudging Ironhide's shoulder, indicating that he should sit up. Ordinarily he'd be jibing the old mech mercilessly for effectively fragging himself by getting up too quickly, but today was one of the few times when Ironhide's pride needed to be left alone. "Nothing big enough for anyone to comm. me with. Debriefing is in an hour, and I'm done with you here. Again. Thought you might want to look in on Forge before the meeting."

Ironhide gave a short nod, pushing himself upright with a hiss and swinging his legs over the edge of the berth. His chassis felt mangled- a needless reminder of just how many girders had been forced through him, and how deeply. He was doubly grateful that Ratchet wasn't making a big thing out of him being back in here. "Who's he with?"

"Luna. Bumblebee took the humans away to calm them down after your little accident, and Tempest was still recharging when I got there." He smiled faintly, a pull of his plates that had been absent for some time now. "I think that youngling could sleep through a nuclear explosion."

Ratchet stepped back and to the side to allow room for Ironhide to get off the berth, mouth twitching at the pain-fuelled stiffness. He motioned with a nod and started them walking. "Come on – it'll do him good to see you, and Luna's due a scan."

Falling into a rough stride alongside the smaller mech as they made their way out of the Medbay, Ironhide suppressed the urge to rub over his spark, now aching from the distance in the sparkbond. "Any word from Optimus?"

"Not yet," Ratchet replied softly, all emphasis on that crucial adverb.

* * *

Optimus needed to recharge. He was very aware of the fact not only from the insistent warnings from his systems, but from the sluggish and shallow state of his mind. His thoughts drifted as easily as his emotions, and evidently neither could be forced into any sort of usable state through sheer force of will.

Checking the next two hours of flight on the navigation screen, Optimus shifted restlessly in the chair before setting an internal alarm and powering down. As before, as it had been all day, he had barely reached the fringes of effective recharge before the flux rose. The cavern again, abundant with sensations he knew were lies, and yet when the images faltered it was only to spread broad wings across the assailant mech's back. There was a rich, keening note where growls of satisfaction ought to have been, the flux morphing with his newest knowledge. Again, Optimus came online with a jolt and a flutter through his systems, gritting his dentals when his systems pointed out that his little panic attack had cost him even more energy.

They were lies, Optimus sighed to himself as he rested his helm back into the uppermost rest of the command chair. Lies, yet his memories of those fake fluxes were real and inevitably a part of him now. Underlying them was a corrosive ache in his spark, as it sought and missed its counterpart within Ironhide's own casing.

Though Optimus had already known perfectly well the reasons why soldiers did not usually spark bond, he hadn't expected the severity of the ache of his spark reaching but deprived of its mate in the vastness of space. Over this distance, his spark was a cold and nauseating point that felt increasingly hollow as the hours passed. They were moving closer to Earth, but not so close as to make a difference, and not fast enough to ease this miserable pain.

Doubtless the severity of the fluxes that were keeping him from recharge was in part due to the stark isolation his spark felt, and wouldn't ease until they were several million miles closer to Earth, and Ironhide. He needed to rest but in this circumstance that wasn't possible. More than that, though, he needed to pilot this ship past any dangerous anomalies that may arise in this unknown region and work out how they were going to get planet-side when they reached their destination.

He needed to be awake to work, no matter how much his systems were crying for recharge, but taking energon wasn't sufficient to keep him powered enough to overcome the system warnings. But there were ways around that. Optimus considered the still-exposed circuitry on the side of the console. It was a stupid idea, really. The contact burns alone would call for complete replacement of the small panels in his hand, and likely the circuitry within his arm as well. Such a jolt would keep him awake and stimulated for up to four days, though – more than enough time to pilot the Nemesis back and touch down. The potential damage didn't concern him - his side was already a ruined mess of pain and the prospect of adding a little more didn't perturb him. If the damage was truly serious, he could always swap Starscream out of the chemical bath for an hour to repair the worst of it.

Optimus drummed his fingers on the console at the thought of the Seeker and the child doubtless still curled in his arms, both entirely vulnerable and at his mercy. It wasn't a position he enjoyed Starscream being in, but it was certainly the safest for now. In this damaged and underpowered a state, Starscream could have easily offlined him and staged it as an accident so that there was no threat of banishment hanging over him for the rest of his days. He sincerely doubted that the Seeker actually would try something like that, though, given his earlier supplications to safeguard his daughter. Without a doubt, now, he believed that every one of Starscreams recent heinous acts had been with noble intentions, but he couldn't go unpunished.

Though, as the fury had withered, Optimus had found himself wondering if the amercement had been too harsh. He wasn't unaccustomed to delivering punishments – he'd undertaken a handful of executions for high treason towards the start of the war in addition to thousands of varying punishments over the centuries. But the most serious of those decisions had been made in conferment, weighed up and reasoned to reflect the severity of the crime without reducing them to the same level of injustice as the perpetrator. Forbidding a sparkbond to protect Ratchet from the knowledge of what his lover had done, and to maintain the desperate need for secrecy for the comfort of many, was one thing. Forbidding it simply to deny Starscream happiness of the like he'd found with Ironhide was something else entirely.

It was not a decision he could go back on, however. Optimus knew that as concretely as he knew his own systems. To do so would be to imply that there was something redeemable in what the Seeker had done, something to excuse his own days of psychological abuse and the atrocious emotional manipulation of the Autobots, and his son and sparkmate in particular.

He hadn't anticipated finding some regret in his amercement, but even so nothing could be changed now. Starscream had accepted his sentence and the decision to keep the truth behind the fluxes a secret, which in turn would preserve the catharsis that the Seeker claimed the Autobots had found in the final, devastating fight. Tempest had avenged his Sire and the Autobots had ended the war by passing their own sentence. To learn that they had been manipulated into their savagery by Starscream would cause more harm than good.

Optimus shuttered his optics and clenched his fists atop the console, vents hissing stale air laced with steam. Ironhide was going to be a difficulty – he had no idea what he was going to say to him yet. The truth would be an initial mercy to the other mech, who at the moment believed his sparkmate to have hidden a rape of the grossest severity from him for two years. But that relief would rapidly turn to rage, and Starscream would experience a very drawn out death. Starscream's lie would take time for their relationship to recover from, and it would be a challenge to maintain with the sparkbond, but they'd live through it. And Tempest would still have his beloved guardian whom would teach and protect him in places that Optimus couldn't.

A new bout of warnings appeared at the forefront of his processor, breaking the shadowed train of thought and moving him to consider the exposed side of the console again. One zap and the lethargy would go – he could occupy himself with navigating to Earth. He could work out exactly how they were going to get onto the surface without landing the conspicuous spaceship.

He wouldn't need to recharge.

It was a stupid idea, really. But, Optimus reasoned with a sigh, he was down to stupid ideas at this point.

With that in mind, he drew out the main power relay and unscrewed the connective. Quite obviously this was going to hurt. After taking a few seconds to steel himself, the cable crackling over his upturned hand, he slammed the raw feed down against his palm and roared.

* * *

Arcee lingered at the end of the short corridor that attached the briefing room to the command staff's quarters. The human-built walls were corrugated metal, exceptionally delicate structures for the resident Cybertronians to live within. More than one bot had leaned too hard or jostled a comrade through one of the weak barriers, which served a primarily aesthetic purpose in linking the hangers and buildings of the Base together. The femmes, however, along with the smallest mechs, could lean against one of the wall's support struts without any structural harm being done.

The nonchalance of Arcee's pose, however, was entirely misleading as she waited for the late night meeting to begin. Though her presence wasn't required, she lingered with the intention of intercepting Thundercracker before he went inside. Skywarp had vanished before she could talk to him once they got back from the docks, and she could only hope that the judicious Seeker knew where he went.

Her chassis was still tender from Ratchet's repairs, and she was idly thumbing the healing welds when she heard a heavy door leading on to the corridor finally open. Ratchet approached her from the direction of the Medbay. When their optics met, Arcee offered a thin smile and touched his wrist. He nodded slightly, touching her hand in turn before moving past her to take his spot at the table, head bowed and shoulders high and tight. Starscream, amongst others, weighed heavy on his processor.

She watched the other bots appear and file quietly inside, all battle-weary. Her mouth pulled with a sigh when Thundercracker wasn't one of them. One of the last to arrive, Tempest motioned for Magnus to leave him the space to approach her on his own as the older mech shadowed him down the corridor.

"Hi Tempest," Arcee offered, resisting a cringe at the pathetic greeting, though she couldn't think of what else she could say. His expression was unreadable, matching Ironhide's as he moved past them with a grunt of acknowledgement into the meeting room. Lennox and Epps were balanced against his chassis in his hand, freshly showered and in clean combats.

The Seeker spared Arcee any further unease by quirking a sad sort of smile, one hand coming up to touch the base of his neck. His tone was low, aware of the others waiting inside and Magnus only a few paces behind him. "Hey. You were looking for TC to find out where 'Warp might have gone, right?"

Arcee's optics flicked a shutter at that. Such intuition from a sparkling was undeniably the mark of a Prime, she acknowledged privately. Unconsciously her posture straightened, and she nodded. "He's not answering on his channel, and it's been a few hours…"

Tempest nodded a little to save her words, hands moving to his hips and optics brightening in thought as his brow furrowed. "Thundercracker's still pretty locked up with the new bots, and he didn't mention where 'Warp might go," he began, reminded that the flighty Seeker hadn't spoken to him before leaving either. However the answer appeared quickly. "But I'd bet my afterburners on him being at that beach he was going to take you to a little while back."

Arcee's slim brows curved in surprise. "You know about that?"

A slanted, almost shy smile. "Not many secrets between Seekers, and it's his favourite place. He didn't say anything to me before he left, but I can't think of anywhere else he'd go." Tempest paused with a glance over his shoulder, noting that Magnus was still waiting patiently by the doorway for him. No one had left him alone since they'd gotten back.

He rubbed his optics before looking back down to Arcee, mouth pulled in an uneasy grimace. "If you could convince him to come back, that'd be very helpful. Things are pretty uneasy with _Sire_ and Scree on the Nemesis. Basically both the faction leaders are missing for the start of peace, and the Decepticons are asking for Scree in lieu of Megatron and Soundwave to speak on their behalf. And they want to know what _Sire _is going to do with them. We need to be together whilst we wait for them to make contact."

The situation was a precarious one, Arcee reflected with a heavy spark. Nothing substantial could be done until Optimus and Starscream returned and made the big decisions that the end of the Great War brought about. But neither could things be left static, as peace couldn't be maintained by passivity alone. They needed Optimus for his wisdom, and the Decepticons needed Starscream as a representative whom had long been one of their best. Tempest was unofficially having to maintain the situation whilst they waited, and it wasn't a position she envied.

To his affirmation that they needed to be unified for this wait, Arcee gave a short nod. "Yes Prime." She had uttered the title without realising, and froze with bright optics awaiting Tempest's reaction.

Tempest's reaction was understated, optics dipping a little as he nodded and hummed a low, wordless thanks. After a moment he made a vague motion with his hand and took a step back, finally moving through the briefing room doorway to join the waiting bots. The older mech lingered and held Arcee's gaze for a long moment. Finally, Magnus touched a hand to her shoulder with a grim smile and followed on, leaving her alone in the hallway.

* * *

No one sat in Prime's chair at the head of the briefing table, and the absence spoke volumes. By contrast, where Starscream had gradually come to take a usual place, the vacated seat had been taken by Tempest. Thundercracker's chair was empty beside Prowl and opposite Bumblebee, who had yet to get the scorch marks off his chassis. Magnus stood behind the Autobot Commander's chair, one hand resting on its back as the debriefing took place.

"Twenty three Decepticons in total," Prowl went on, speaking to the room as a whole. Unknowingly, his fingers on one hand were playing across the neighbouring seat's armrest as the other rested in a fist on the table. "Disarmed for now, but all have pledged to drop arms and join us in peace."

Lennox raised his hand from where he stood in front of and to one side of Ironhide, alongside Epps as the NEST representatives. "What about all the mini Cons?"

"They were drones with fuel cells instead of energon and a bad attitude. One-use critters. Last one bit the chip on the way back t'Base," Jazz answered, leaning into one arm of the oversized chair as he favoured his right side. His backstrut ached from where Onslaught had tried to twist him apart, and it had only been multiple shells of acerbic gel to the Decepticon's face that had gotten him away. He was well aware that one of those shells had also corroded a point-blank hole in his Prime's chassis, but he was saving that particular bucket of guilt for a better time. "Reckon we could have the log slagged in-"

"I strongly suggest that we collect their remains," Ratchet interjected from Ironhide's right, opposite Tempest and Bumblebee. "Without a fabrication plant I've been struggling to keep just us functioning properly. Now, with this many bots on-site, most of whom are in need of basic repair, I need parts."

Lennox knew already of the taboo and unease surrounding using another Cybertronian's parts – particularly those from the opposing faction. Ironhide had told him of the scrappers on Cybertron that had made a living foraging from offlined bots and selling the parts cheaply over the black market. However, Ratchet's point was sound.

"All of the Decepticons who offlined at the dock are being brought back," Bumblebee supplied, tipping one hand in gesture over the table and cringing at the debris that fell out. The scout had been the last to leave the battle site after checking the rubble and water for any alien remains and had yet to hit the shower rack. "They were going to be put out at sea, but we could probably fit it all into Wheeljack's lab for sorting."

There was a pregnant pause as the salient question swelled through the room, everyone aware of it but no one daring to speak it aloud. Tempest looked up from where his gaze had been held in the middle distance above the table, sensing that this decision had already been agreed as being his alone. "No one is to use Megatron's parts, no matter how strong they are."

Relief was palpable though no one moved. "Damn straight," Jazz murmured, preceeding a general buzz of agreement.

Magnus nodded, his optics narrowing with conviction. "Agreed. I would also recommend that the remnants be dismembered further to nullify any chance of future resurrection." The last was offered directly to Tempest with a frank awareness of the grotesqueness of the idea. The Seeker simply nodded, his expression indecipherable as his gaze drifted back down.

Prowl sat forward a little, projecting a green map grid into the centre of the table. Coastal outlines appeared and then a dozen points of red lights, spread across hundreds of represented miles. "I propose that what remains be randomised and distributed amongst these locations." His slim hand reached out, elbow brushing against Thundercracker's armrest where the Seeker's hand would have been. "These are the deepest seabed ravines on the planet. The average depth pressure is -"

A harsh comm. buzz cut the tactician off, and before anyone could respond Red Alert's voice came through the senior mechs' speakers. He sounded, predictably, alarmed.

"A short transmission just came through from the outer system – signal matches the Nemesis." It was easy to imagine him hunched over his personal console in the monitor room, optics bright and hands moving fast enough to blur. The listening mechs and soldiers exchanged a look, straightening. "Autobot authorisation codes check initially, but I'm just-"

"Frag the codes, Red," Ironhide snapped, one hand coming down in a fist on the table hard enough to jar his healing internals and make the humans lose their footing. "What'd it say?"

"Prime and Starscream are safe and in fair condition," came the rushed reply. Bumblebee _whoop_ed and Prowl kicked him so they could listen as Red Alert continued. "They're in control of the Nemesis and en-route. Based on co-ordinates, speed and how far this transmission has come, they'll arrive in approximately seventy-two hours."

Optics bright, Tempest looked to the medic. "Is that in time for Scree?"

Processing his own immense relief, Ratchet didn't respond for several seconds before finally nodding with a small, hesitant smile, hand raising to touch his helm. "Yes, by a few days. She was developed enough to survive a premature birth when I scanned her last, anyway."

"Was there anything else in the message?" Magnus asked over the beginnings of excited conversations.

There was a brief delay as Red Alert scanned through the message again, checking for hidden subtexts and frequency harmonics doctored to convey secret data. He found nothing aside from the Seeker's glyphs, all sent in one hard pulse. "Just that they might not be able to transmit again – communications were damaged."

Bumblebee glanced about the other mechs before speaking aloud into his own comm.. "If communications were damaged, how did they get a message to us?"

Red Alert didn't have an answer to that, though it was clear from the way Ratchet rubbed a hand across his jaw with a frown that the he did. "Must have synched up to boost a comm. signal. Stupidly dangerous, but it works," he trailed off, finding it difficult to decide for whom it would have been more dangerous – the carrying Seeker or the frayed Prime.

"If communications are damaged, then the spacebridge is damaged," Prowl concluded, laying his palms flat to the table. It settled the earlier argument of the feasibility of Optimus and Starscream repairing the Nemesis' spacebridge and attempting to use the one they had in pieces in the Yard as an arrival platform. "They'll need a way to land."

"They'll be needing a parking permit," Jazz drawled, looking to the humans.

Ironhide brushed a hand across his jaw in thought. "Once he's close enough, I can pass on that kind of information to Optimus over the bond." As he spoke, he felt Ratchet's gaze settle on him, though there was nothing given away in his faceplates.

Lennox was already moving with Epps to Ironhide's hand to be let down to the floor. "On it. I'll get you landing co-ordinates and an invisibility window by tomorrow night."

"I'll have the Medbay prepped." Ratchet was already pushing himself to his feet. "Those two are as bad as each other about what kind of fragged state they class as 'fair condition'." Standing, he fixed his gaze on the dark mech whom had slumped back a little into the chair. "Ironhide, a word?"

A short nod though Ironhide made no move to get up. Tempest leaned close to him as the rest of the bots rose, the meeting clearly over. "Can you feel Sire yet? I mean, now that they're coming, can you feel him?"

Ironhide shook his head, resisting the instinctive urge to rub his fingers across the thick plates covering his spark. "Not over this kind of distance. But I'm waiting, 'Pest, and you'll be the first to know."

* * *

Despite the chemical bath spoon-feeding my systems and trying to lull me into recharge with its warmth, I can't allow my optics to offline. I watch her, my protoform-deep anxiety that he will change his mind and take her from me not lessening as the hours crawl by. But he won't. Prime isn't Megatron, and he swore he wouldn't take her.

Primus, though, she's too perfect to keep. She can't be mine after all this. Ratchet's going to glitch when he sees her. Holds her.

I catch myself there and put the hand that I'd been memorising Tink's audios with into a fist on the ledge. Frag's sake, I don't care that much. Prime's 'punishment' is laughable. I never intended to spark-bond with the Hatchet in the first place for the very same reason he's forbidden me with. Ratchet can't know what I did to Prime because he'd never abide it, never understand why it had to be such a desperate thing to keep her safe.

Tink squirms against my cockpit, coming out of recharge mouthing the glass with a soft churr. Holding her upright, I scoop up a handful of black goop and pour it down her back and wings. Like every time before, it makes her giggle in a high crackle, blue optics flashing bright.

"We're fortunate to have this, winglet," I tell her softly, still wary of making her cry by talking too loud or holding her too tight.

I'm very glad that 'Warp and Thundercracker aren't here to see this.

Adjusting her on my chassis, I slip her a fuel line and kiss her helm. The gesture itself would have been meaningless before hanging around the meatsacks, but it's pleasant. I can see why it caught on amongst the bots.

"We'll be back on the mud-ball in a few days," I go on, encouraged when her gaze fixes on me as she feeds. "It's awful for the most part. Full of filth and grit, covered in organic muck that contaminates everything. And I won't even start about the water."

My optics drift upwards, fixing on a familiar point in the corner of the repair bay. "But the sky, Tink. There's nowhere else in the universe that's got a sky like it." In the dim I smile, resting my helm back against the ledge. "Even on Cybertron, the atmosphere was never so perfect for Seekers. Oxygen rich and with changing colours as the planet moves. Warm updrafts and moisture pockets to sweep around. Land masses as different as solar systems with lifeforms and structures that you couldn't imagine. I'll take you everywhere your Creator can't. Me and our wingmates."

Tink chirps for me to go on, though I know full well that she's just lost grip on the feeding line. I guide it back to her mouth and hold it there with my thumb, cupping her cheek and watching her swallow the thin stream of energon she draws out. "Skywarp won't leave you alone – to play with and protect. He's more intelligent than he'll let you think, but he'll do some asinine things on the spur of the moment that make you wonder how he hasn't warped into someone's aft yet. Usually to help someone, but likely now just to impress the femme who's wrapping him around her servos.

"You'll like Thundercracker. He's the steadiest of our breed I've ever known, and probably left. If you ever need guidance or advice and you can't talk to me, he's the one you go to. 'Warp'll pull you out of a dying star and happily offline himself in the process, but TC'll fight to keep you from being there in the first place." The last time I saw him, and how his attention kept drifting to precisely I know what, comes to mind, and I touch Tink's nose. "Don't bother asking him for love advice, though. He's as clueless as they come. Skywarp should have a word, or fifty. Even Tempest. He's intuitive enough to have already seen…"

Tink continues to stare at me as I falter and finally trail off, though stops after a moment and shutters her optics. Immediately the feeding line slips from her mouth and her fists curl back into recharge. I cradle her helm to my chassis, letting my body slip further into the viscous liquid so that it laps against her back like a blanket.

Tempest is a barbed lance in all of this, keeping the wound raw. He's a Seeker, a future Prime, and I've let him get deeper under my plating than I ought to have. Pit, I invited him in. He's going to know. I won't say, he likely won't, but he'll know I've done something awful to pay for Tink's life. Worse than he could imagine. Worse than what Megatron did to Prime, and by extension to him. The only incentive I have for even fleetingly wanting this gruesome truth to come out is to have a chance at gaining his forgiveness. I've never wanted forgiveness before, from anyone, until now.

My systems register the negligible drain from Tink's feed and I feel my intakes open a little, drawing in the rich mix we're immersed in and absorbing energon. Even passively refuelling near-constantly like this I'm wearied, though, and it feels like enough now to stifle the clamouring in my spark and the professions and arguments I've begun rehearsing in my processor. I don't need to scan the area to know that Prime is nowhere near us and that we're safe.

He won't take her. He has children – he knows what that would do to me. He isn't sparkless, not like Megatron. Not like me. Murmuring this assurance into Tink's audio, I finally let my optics darken out the room and my mind wander into oblivion.

* * *

Following the bearings that Skywarp had given her only weeks ago, Arcee had left the Base at a good speed and arrived at the beach in the small hours of the morning. Skywarp had been right about the remoteness of this particular stretch of the coast, the interlocking rocks and escarpments proving a challenge even to her agile frame. Predictably, she found the Seeker not sat in the gritty sand but perched on a smooth boulder, gazing out to sea.

He looked to her with bright optics when she was close enough for their shared lights to mingle in a soft pool. Arcee raised a hand and fanned her fingers in greeting. "Hey, 'Warp."

"Hey." Skywarp straightened and shifted on the boulder to make room for her, shuffling his wings into as compact a configuration as possible. He watched her peripherally as she sat, his gaze resting on his interlaced fingers hanging between his knees.

After a heavy silence, Arcee brushed her fingers across his arm. "Prime and Starscream transmitted a message a few hours ago. They're okay. They're on their way back."

He shifted a little at that, frowning. Though it was a relief to hear that both mechs had made contact and were safely returning, the thought of his carrying trine leader and a traumatised Prime trapped together on the Nemesis for days skipped his bearings. With the battle, and whatever Starscream had done to trigger it so fresh, he needed to lay low and inconspicuous for a time. Now, they were both vulnerable and stuck together, out of reach and uncensored. It could all come out, and there would be no telling what the Prime would do.

These anxious considerations took a fraction of a second to germinate and be followed to grim conclusions.

His processor was something of an anomaly compared to other bots, but one wholly suited to his ability of calculating and executing safe jumps through space. Used to running thousands of calculations without being consciously aware of them, the Seeker's mind functioned in layers that he wasn't always in tune with. When something was truly bothering him, it festered on every mental level with a deafening noise and mounting pressure until some kind of resolution came about to relieve it. Or a distraction.

Tonight, it seemed to come from the femme's hand sliding into his own. The fragile touch, and the feel of concerned sensors gently caressing his frame, anchored his mind to this one place and point. He curled his fingers around her smaller digits, thumbing her knuckles. If something else had been indicated in the communication, she would have told him.

Ultimately, as embroiled as his mind was, Skywarp smiled at the news. "That's great. How long?"

"About three days," she replied brightly, pleased that he was being drawn out of his pensive musings. She didn't speculate on where his thoughts could be. "Now a way for them to get down here without the human populus noticing needs to be found, though I'm sure a solution will arise."

"Always the last bit that's hard," Skywarp murmured thoughtfully, straightening in an effort to force some of the tension from his frame and just be with the femme sitting beside him. This moment had been a long time coming, and it was doubly special now that she had sought –him- out to have it. There was nothing he could do about Starscream and Prime, and he sincerely wished that his processor would drop the issue and let him be with Arcee.

But some small, foreign part of him wanted to share this with her, to take solace from the shared worry and to receive any assurances she might have that it would be okay. Not only was there a dire need for secrecy about what Starscream had done that kept him from speaking, but Skywarp also genuinely didn't know enough to tell her anything.

Though he and Thundercracker had offered the beginning of a scheme to safeguard the coming sparkling from Megatron through manipulating Tempest, Starscream had germinated it and carried it out without any further knowledge or input on their part. Starscream had long made it habit to keep the details of his schemes to himself wherever possible, even if he or Thundercracker had been there at its conception. It was always this way with a dangerous plan that didn't necessitate their knowing – if Starscream was suspected, neither he nor Thundercracker could be beaten or threatened into a confession because they genuinely knew nothing. It was a way of safeguarding schemes and one another, though the Trine leader was rarely ever spared.

This time, he knew that Starscream had induced a bad flux in Prime– extracted the memory of Tempest's conception for Magnus to see, most likely, to instigate the final, deadly battle. This suspicion and intent was all Skywarp knew that Arcee didn't, but if any word of it got out, then Starscream's plan, whatever it was, would be exposed and punishment bestowed. That couldn't happen, he silently affirmed to himself. Not with a Seekerling on the way.

But he wanted to tell her. For the first time in his life, having only Thundercracker to confide with in the background didn't feel like enough. It had been what had caused him to need to over-think the whole thing in solitude and to ultimately arrive at a foreign level of guilt. Otherwise Arcee's anxiety and wonderings matched his own, and he wished that they could withstand it together.

Arcee cleared her vents with a soft shunt to break the silence, twisting one foot against the pebbles and making them _clack_. "Uh, Thundercracker was just disarming the bots in the Yard when I left."

Skywarp tipped his head to regard her. Though he'd defected over a year ago, the Decepticons had still been an extended family to him for hundreds of centuries. The Seekers had not mingled socially with the groundpounders to any real extent, but he still cared. "How's everyone getting on on the side of good, righteousness and Christmas?"

The slight femme coughed a laugh at that, not needing to remind him that with the war over they had all gone into the same melting pot, though there would doubtless still be a clash of ideals. That, and there was no reason to believe that every bot would take to peace easily. "Okay, I think. He didn't tell me much, just that they're all asking for Starscream and want to know what Prime's going to do with them." She ran a hand across the base of her helm, recalling the youngest Seeker's silent unease with his newfound position of total authority. "Tempest thought it'd be best if they didn't know that Starscream and Prime are off-planet, especially now that we know they're coming back."

"Yeah, I can see the squabble over who's going to broker for them going real well for the infrastructure," Skywarp drawled with rolled optics. "Just let them keep thinking that Starscream's already doing the talking for them now, because you couldn't shut him up, and they'll keep their hands and feet to themselves."

They lapsed in silence again, pregnant with the sense that Skywarp had more to say. Long used to inferring from the body language and energy readings of stoicly quiet mechs, Arcee waited, watching the surf break a little way from them to ease the passing.

Skywarp began again as if there had been no pause, though his voice had softened into warier notes. "Things are going to come out." He looked at her again, forcing himself to meet her optics. Something was building between them, and they were both perfectly aware of it, but there was much in his past that he feared she would need to forgive, or at least displace, before it could go much further. Speaking generally about the Decepticons felt like the only way he could beging to voice that concern to her. "There's stuff that we've done – all of us. Stuff we should pay for with coming to the Autobots."

Arcee dipped her head in the start of a nod, feeling the opportunity for a statement of blanket assurance and forgiveness growing but discarding it quickly. It was a very serious stumbling block they would all now encounter, and she composed her words carefully. "I can't speak for the Prime, but with the war over, all of that should be left behind. Much of the harm done, the atrocities committed, were under the orders of Megatron."

The larger Seeker grunted a laugh and sat back, clawed hands cupping over his knees. "That's a very simplified view. A lot of us made a lot of choices off our own backs in a fight." His optics brightened as memory flashed by, things he couldn't help but smile a little at. "Pit, we did a lot of things that you'd have us in the brig for for the next solar century just for the fun of it."

Watching him in profile, Arcee made a soft cycle that functioned as a sigh. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, how Ratchet had put exactly this aside to be with Starscream, whom had doubtless committed uncountable grotesque acts with casualty. In the end, she could only offer, "War fosters that kind of behaviour."

An arched brow and Skywarp looked down at her, though kept his head up and mock-sceptical. "You mean, everyone got a bit tweaked?"

Arcee's mouth pulled into a partial grin, and she rocked her body sideways so that she bumped arms with him. "Yeah."

Skywarp exhaled heavily, accepting the point and only hoping that it would be that simple a hurdle to jump. His arm tingled from where her plates had made contact, and feeling invited he allowed his body to sag and touch against hers. Unbidden, his processor circled back to Starscream and the disasterous results of the truth, whatever that might be, coming out. "Still doesn't forgive it, even if anyone was actually regretful. Pit, when it all starts coming out, it could start a whole new war."

"Something I'm certain that the Prime will take into consideration," Arcee replied softly.

"You put a lot of faith in his abilities." There was something like envy in his tone.

"I do," Arcee affirmed with a quiet conviction that had appeared early and only strengthened as the war raged on. "He's the best of us. He's earned that faith from all of us."

"Yeah. Can't say I'm completely immune to his cerebral charms."

A smile and Arcee risked slipping her hand into his, weaving her blunter digits between his slender fingers that tapered into claws. Their plates warmed at the contact, and for a moment they simply sat quietly.

At last, she squeezed his hand and flexed her leg servos to stand. "We should get back."

Skywarp held her small hand tight and didn't move, not letting her get up. "Sunrise is only about four hours away," he began slowly, one shoulder rolling in an innocent shrug. "If you're up for it, I mean."

To his gratification, she was.

* * *

"This is stupid."

"More of a calculated risk." Ratchet looked up beneath his drawn brow to the darker mech sat opposite him on the floor. "And you didn't think it was stupid when I proposed it."

In his shared quarters, Ironhide scowled again at the mess of cables and lines that linked his systems up to external devices and the medic's own body. It was the most comprehensive arrangement of life-support that could be devised. "That's when I thought this might have a shot of working."

Ratchet fully understood the mech's reticence, but the idea had been nagging since the message from Prime and Starscream had come through. It hadn't taken Red Alert long to ascertain just how improvised the transmission had had to have been, and it had left his processor humming as to the possibility of sending a message back. Quite simply, they lacked the resources and power to boost a comm. signal that far on this planet, and the possibility of linking one bot up to enough human generators to make enough power held more complications and risks than he was happy with. The sparkbond between Ironhide and Prime, however, was a resource he hadn't initially thought to use, largely because the near-meditative and extremely compromised state that was required to focus and extend the bond wasn't a possibility in war.

But they weren't at war now, and Ironhide had consented immediately to this somewhat ghoulish proposal. It was only now that he was becoming uneasy, though disguising it as best he could for the sake of this much-needed communication.

"I could go into the physics," he started in a tone meant to reassure, though he had to quirk a smile at Ironhide's rolled optics, "but it boils down to him being near enough to communicate if you focus hard enough. It –will- work if you focus."

Ironhide once again took in what he'd decided was as mad a science project as he'd ever seen – his systems were linked to and fully reliant on the medic's via the external pumps and filters, though his processor and spark had been isolated and indeed shielded from the prying lines. Knowing what the next few hours would hold, the dark mech was acutely aware of every twitch and vibration in his parts, the processes and tics that had been so constant over thousands of years that he barely noticed them now unless something was wrong. The prospect of his body being effectively lifeless battled alongside anxiety against his spark-deep want to find his sparkmate and assure himself that he was alright.

Shifting a little, he made his tone sound relaxed and easy. "And that involves turning off most of my systems."

Ratchet touched the space between his optics, troubled that the mech didn't seem to appreciate just how dramatic an act this would be. "Ironhide, when I'm done with turning off everything except what makes you 'you', what's left on will fit into a modestly sized bread bin."

A beat as Ironhide digested that, ultimately finding that the only way he could respond was archly. "I think you're overlooking my cannons, there."

The medic grunted with a wry smile. "As I said, sparkbonds need reasonable close proximity to be healthy, and separation causes immense strain on systems. By shutting down everything but what your sparkbond is based in, clearing out those distractions and drains, you'll be able to talk to him." Sending out a few simple commands, he put the connective relays between them onto standby, ready for the onslaught of medical overrides that it would take to deactivate the broader mech.

Ironhide shifted again, getting old parts as comfortable as possible on the floor. Ratchet had initially suggested that he laid on the berth for this, but that felt too apathetic a position to be stuck in. Shuttering his optics, he bowed his head and tried to relax. This had to work. Ratchet said it would. "Fine. Get on with it."

Ratchet also shuttered his optics to block out that spectrum's stimulus, immersing himself in his scanners and the code flitting back and forth between them. The initial task of placing his systems in control of Ironhide's energon and coolant regulation was quite straightforward. It was the neural pathways that posed the most risk. Even so, he took command slowly, easing more and more control across and matching Ironhide's natural rhythms as closely as possible.

It was the equivalent of organ failure, with fluids circulated wholly by external pumps. He paused for almost ten minutes, allowing Ironhide to become used to the change. This procedure had to be done slowly so as not to induce a system shock that could severely compromise, and likely kill them both. "How're you doing?"

His body silent and still, Ironhide focussed on his vents as the one moving system that he'd retained control of for the moment. "I'm fine. Keep going."

Satisfied, Ratchet pressed on. The gaseous component of the mech's cooling system was tied up with his motor pathways and had to be left alone for the moment. Overriding fresh warnings, he swiftly deactivated the lattice of neural lines that connected his protoform to his armour. This tactile sensory deprivation was the first threatening change, and he waited in silence to guage the mech's reaction.

"Ironhide?"

Ratchet had become the only thing aside from his aching spark that he was aware of – everything else was suddenly gone. Ironhide raced to regather his thoughts and composure, knowing that the faster they got through this the sooner he could speak to Optimus. "It's… I'm alright. Just keep talking to me."

"The numbness is normal," Ratched assured gently. "I'm monitoring everything."

There was a long silence as Ironhide waited for something else to go. Nothing happened. Apparently Ratchet wanted to give him plenty of time to adjust, but his patience was rapidly thinning. "How long's this going to take?"

"Most of the systems I'm deactivating have never been offline since joining your frame, so I'll be conducting this carefully," the medic replied with a forced evenness that bordered on frustration. Again he was glad that this procedure didn't require the disengagement of vocals until the very end – communicating by glphys alone through these stages would have been too much for the mech to take, and it meant that he could bring in a sardonic and scathing tone when Ironhide was asking for it. "Be aware that bringing you back fully online will take significantly longer, but so long as someone is connected to you, you can stay like this talking to Prime for as long as you wish."

There had been a niggling anxiety that he was uncertain about behind the keening want to speak to his sparkmate, and with his systems already messed up in the medic's capable hands, Ironhide found that fear barrelling to the fore. "Slag it, I don't know what I'll say," he admitted in a hard rush, vents hissing in agitation as his fists clenched. "He weren't good when he left here, and three days alone with Screamer on the Nemesis with Jazz's gel eatin' at him where the fluxes ain't…"

Ratchet froze his command routines at that, optics onlining of their own accord. He hadn't even considered that, not taken into account how Prime's harrowed mental state might take Ironhide suddenly reaching out for him. Their bond had been silent since the fluxes precisely because using it could prove to be incredibly traumatic. "You were right. This is stupid."

A beat as Ironhide absorbed that, and then he had to smile. Taking over in the face of another's uncertainty was something he was good at, and it bolstered him to push on now. With the options being to wait and worry in silence over his sparkmate or to reach out and at the very least offer words of love and comfort, there was no contest. "Calculated risk. He put out a transmission, which is a good sign, and we need to know what's going on up there," he uttered finally, flat and decisive. His tone slipped into something softer before he could stop it. "Need to know what state he's in. Pit, I know you want me to do this just to check in on Screamer."

He couldn't truthfully deny that, though Ratchet didn't appreciate his own agenda being pointed out to him. Really the motivation behind this communication was to check on their status and to communicate a means of getting them planetside when they arrived. To Ironhide's remark, he merely replied, "Please refrain from calling him that."

Ironhide grunted with the ghost of a smile, finding the exchange a welcome distraction as he felt the medic's code overriding its way deeper into his own. "Fine. You want me to talk to Optimus just so you know that –Starscream- and the babe are alright."

"I'm sure they're fine," came the distracted reply as Ratchet digitally fenced off a new system and began to pick it apart.

His helm filled with an aching warmth that curdled his tanks – which he had no control over, and Ironhide had to force the archness into his voice. "Bet you two nights' sparksitting, with full feed, that that little'un will already be cuddling his cockpit when they get back."

Ratchet had to smile at that. "Deal." He executed the command.

Ironhide couldn't move. For a moment, he couldn't cycle air. "Ratch'-"

"It's okay, I've just disabled your motor pathways," Ratchet assured, monitoring the mech's readouts with an even closer scrutiny. Ironhide now had no control over his own body and wasn't receiving any sensory input aside from his voice. His spark was pulsing with panic and his processor was racing, both of which could only be helped with time, patience and reassurance. They could proceed no further until the dark mech relaxed. "We'll have to wait for you to adjust and relax a little now. Remember that you're safe, and that all of this is only temporary."

Though he couldn't feel anything, including himself, Ironhide had a very strong sense of being tiny and fragile. It wasn't something he was used to, and it alarmed him far more than it ruffled his pride. At least Ratchet wasn't drawing attention to his fear, doubtless being broadcast over the lines connecting them. "You gonna cut off my vocals?" he asked at last, needing the silence to end.

Ratchet hummed aloud, poignantly aware that his voice was all that existed to Ironhide now aside from his own pained spark. _Poor glitch. _"And miss out on your witty banter? Not until I have to."

"Bet this would be easier if you could do this with Starscream," Ironhide mused aloud. "'m sure Seekers have something weird with their sparkbonds as well as everything else."

The smaller mech allowed his features to shift at that, glad that Ironhide was blind. There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone, though. "We're... I mean, I wanted to, but he didn't."

"You wanted to bond?" The surprise was stark.

Though it was a relief to get the admission that he wanted a sparkbond with Starscream out into someone else's audio, Ratchet couldn't keep the scathing drawl out of his voice. "I love him and we've having a sparkling. That's typically what bots do."

A beat as Ironhide considered that, and then he could only mentally shrug. "Hn. Didn't know you 'love' loved him."

With Ironhide's systems well in hand, Ratchet onlined his optics to that declarative with a pronounced frown that echoed the indignation in his voice. "What did you think I was doing?"

"I don't know," Ironhide quickly defended, idly wishing that he could hold his hands up in defense. "Thought maybe he was a good 'face, is all, and it's been obvious from when Tempest was onlined that he's wanted a sparkling. Just didn't think either of you had it in you to… Y'know. Pit, you're as insane and wrapped up in your labs as each other."

Ratchet restrained himself from speaking his first response, well aware that this kind of delirious honesty was a common effect of this procedure. However, he found a part of him wondering how many others had thought the same thing. It wasn't that he cared for others' opinions about his personal life, but the question persisted. For now, he kept his tone droll. "And by default that means we couldn't have a stable relationship?"

Missing the dryness, Ironhide was quick to respond. "Don't get like that, Ratch', I'm just surprised is all. I'm happy for ya. Really, I am. I love ya like kin and I'm glad to see you happy like this."

The medic sat in stunned silence as he absorbed that, appreciating the message but still profoundly unsettled to hear those words in Ironhide's voice. "… Thank you."

"Can't say I completely understand the attraction, though," the dark mech mused aloud, as if suddenly oblivious to Ratchet's presence. "I mean, yeah, the wings and the legs are nice-"

"He challenges me," Ratchet broke in quickly so that Ironhide wouldn't have too much to be embarrassed about when he remembered this later.

"'Cause he's smart?"

"No. Well, partially." He paused, considering how best to explain this. "He's unpredictable. You know what it's like, Ironhide, to live with the same bots for so long that you get to the stage where you can even tell what the Twins are going to go next just from the set of their shoulders and how they position themselves in a room."

"That might just be you not having enough to do," came the arch assessment. "I'll mention it to Optimus."

Unaffected by the tone, Ratchet sighed through his vents in thought. As he spoke, he felt a warm pride swell in his chassis. "He's changing. Ever since he extended a guardianship to Tempest he's been changing for the better every day, but the kernel of him, that irrepressible mania that drives his intelligence and convictions will always be there. And I want to see that every day. Be a part of it."

"Hot."

A mental blink, and Ratchet wondered just how much this disconnectedness was going to Ironhide's processor. "… I hardly think that-"

"No, it's hot." Though the tone was thick with agitation, the underlying fear was obvious.

Ratchet nodded a little in realisation, having expected that at some point. "Your diagnostic sensors are offline. Your systems can't tell if there's coolant circulating, so they're assuming it isn't."

"It's getting too hot," Ironhide insisted roughly, his spark fluttering as he tried to connect to his systems through the abyss that surrounded him. "Something's gonna short."

"I'm ciculating the coolant for you". Ratchet had the urge to lay a hand on the mech's knee, but knew that Ironhide wouldn't be able to feel it. "You're fine, I promise."

He felt as much as watched Ironhide regather himself, his spark pulse forcibly slowing and his processor emptying of panicked warnings that he was generating himself. Maintaining the same, even flow of energon and coolant about the other mech's systems, Ratchet waited for a clue as to how to best proceed.

Just as he was about to ask if he was alright, Ironhide spoke again. "So, he don't want to bond, huh?"

They had to keep talking, just like when Ironhide underwent serious repairs with little to no pain suppressants. Ironically, as much as allowing the mech to distract himself by prying into his personal life bothered him, Ratchet was finding that the confessed vocalisations were lifting a weight from his spark as well. "He's scared. It comes across, but he won't talk about it."

"If I'd done half the things he's done for the 'Con side, I'd be scared of letting someone into my spark too."

It was a rare thing to hear Ironhide make a personal speculation like that, but Ratchet was more affected by a need to defend the creator of his unborn sparkling. "We were at war, Ironhide."

"Right," Ironhide agreed with flat conviction, as if that had been so obvious as to not need saying. "I've done my share of things that'd make his wings curl. Pit, I know you have too. So he ain't got much of an excuse. Not like you haven't accepted him as is already."

Checking over the connecting lines again, Ratchet's reply was distracted as he combed through for stress-induced bad-code and energy fluxes. "I've been working on having him understand that, but without much luck."

"It's like that song, isn't it?" Ironhide asked, though didn't pause for an answer. "Don't matter if he comes to berth one evening covered in Simmon's viscera from skinning him and feeding the bits to starving human kidlets – you'd still help clean him up and ask if he fancies getting someone to sparkling-sit for the night."

Not even attempting to discern what song Ironhide could possibly be referring to, Ratchet's voice thickened with suspicious concern. "Ironhide, how do you feel?"

If Ironhide could move, he'd be smiling idiotically. As it was, the sense came across in his speech quite clearly. "…. Floaty."

"Floaty," Ratchet echoed back flatly, well aware that if he were any less concerned he'd be laughing at present.

"Yeah." There was a pause as Ironhide seemed to gather some of his senses to clarify the descriptor. "Like, ah. Disconnected."

Ratchet made a low sound and nodded to himself, glad that the mech could still bring himself back to lucidity. Though if Ironhide was lucid he was more likely to become anxious again. "It'll take some time for you to properly adjust to being partitioned from your systems. Try not to think about it."

"It's alright… Kinda nice."

"Alright, don't go space –cowboy on me, here. Focus on the bond," the medic coaxed, keeping his voice firm yet gentle. "I'll take care of everything else."

A snort of laughter. "That's what he said."

The 'gentle' evaporated from Ratchet's voice. "Focus, Ironhide."

"Oh cram it, nightnurse," Ironhide shot back with a sharpness that made the medic jump. "You got any idea what it's like not to hurt at all? Not to have a single one of the little aches and grinds that never go away, no matter how many times you get patched?"

There was a long silence as Ratchet pinched the space between his optics hard enough to hurt. "Euphoria is a common side-effect of this procedure." He said it as much to remind himself as to reassure the mech opposite him.

Ironhide bristled, irritation and embarrassment giving his processor the kick it needed to refocus itself within the disconcerting space his mind was floating in. "I ain't high."

"Uh huh," Ratchet hummed, thoroughly unconvinced. "Can we focus on Optimus now, please?"

"Right, right. Sorry," Ironhide muttered, feeling a swell of shame rush into his spark. "I don't…"

"It's alright," the medic broke in before Ironhide could find the rest of that sentence. He could feel the guilt pulsing in uncomfortable waves from his vocals alone. "As I said, you've never been this cut off from your systems before, and this giddiness is entirely expected. It's normal, and it doesn't mean anything."

"It's not like I don't care," he went on, the guilt beginning to morph into anger at himself. "Slag, Ratch'-"

"There'll be plenty of time for senseless guilt later," Ratchet promised laconically, though not entirely unsympathetically.

Ironhide was quiet for several minutes, chiding himself for allowing his mind to drift into such a sparkling-like state and for forgetting, even for a moment, why they were doing this. The alien sensations of existing only as spark, mind and voice were still unsettling but familiar to him now, and he could concentrate despite it. He felt hollow, fragile, lost and sickly, but it was a negligible discomfort for contacting his sparkmate. "So, what do I do now?"

"Reach out," Ratchet guided quietly, extending himself into Ironhide's systems once more. They were at the final stage now whereupon he would isolate the mech's sense of self down to just his spark, and concordantly the bond. Without any external stimulus from anything, including his processor, the whole of his world would literally be the bond.

"You've been feeling his presence peripherally, so focus in on that and start talking. You need to be focussed in the right direction before I turn off your vocaliser and finish preparing you."

With everything that had happened already, Ironhide found that he didn't want the details of that 'preparing' explained. He knew that they had been building up to isolating his spark, shrinking his being down to the intangible light of his soul and sparkbond. Though he was close to reaching Optimus because of it, he was deeply uneasy. "Will there be a delay?"

"No. Unlike standard communications systems, sparkbonds exist across a much more significantly compressed-"

"'No' would have covered it, Doc," Ironhide broke in, mirthful despite his apprehension.

"It'll be as if he's right here, but with more interference than usual. It'll be tiring but you'll be able to converse privately." Wasting no time, Ratchet linked his processor to Ironhide's on the most basic levels. He began to cut off and then power sections individually to preserve their activity without them to connect for cerebral function. "If you get uneasy and want me to begin re-establishing your connections and bring you back, I'll be able to sense it through your sparkpulse."

"Ain't gonna get scared of what's happening to me when I've found him, Ratch', and I definitely won't stop unless he tells me to," came the fierce reply despite the faintness that he was beginning to feel. Though Ratchet had briefed him on exactly what was going to happen and what to expect, the reality was almost overwhelming. For himself, he affirmed, "'Do anything for him."

There was a warning chirp warning preceeding the last stages of the mech's processor being isolated from his spark. Ratchet paused, considering wishing him luck as his last words, but he knew that between Ironhide's conviction and devotion, he wouldn't need it.

"I know you will."

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed this instalment – any feedback, long or short, would be very much appreciated. I've been struggling with writing in all respects in recent weeks, so I hope this is up to scratch._


	8. Chapter 8

_It's done, and I'm happy with it. I hope you are too._

_

* * *

_

Pitch

_Chapter 8_

* * *

Sam and Mikaela were already waiting in front of the house when Bumblebee pulled up at the kerb, settling down on his suspension in a proxy sigh. The teens jogged across the lawn to the Camero, dropping their bags of just-in-cases into the back and allowing the mech to draw the seatbelts across their bodies. Each strap pulled a little in what they could only guess was a hug before easing again.

"How're things at the Base?" Sam asked as the idling engine slipped into gear and eased back onto the road. Bumblebee had called them an hour ago and asked if they could come across to help today, a request that they were both only too keen to fulfil, though it had left them worried.

The radio flickered as Bumblebee 'spoke', using his natural voice rather than an amalgamation of indicative sound clips. "Busy and crowded. Didn't know the Decepticons outnumbered us by so many until they were living with us."

Mikaela exchanged a silent look with Sam, agreeing that that wasn't as bad as they'd been fearing. It reminded her of how things were only a week ago, travelling around the sites Optimus had given them to find a suitable place to build the new Base. "I guess things were already getting cramped for you guys. I mean, you were looking for a new home."

"And we still will. Prowl has been stressing that we need a purpose-built Base now more than ever." A beat as Bumblebee flicked his wipers to knock off an insect, humming a dry sound of amusement. "Stressing and stressing out, actually."

No doubt, Mikaela affirmed with a wry smile. She doubted that the number of times she'd actually seen Prowl calm were far outweighed by the times she'd seen him tense and deliberating. "Any more news from Optimus and Starscream?"

"Not yet. Last I heard, Ironhide was trying to talk to Prime over their sparkbond," Bumblebee replied, not pausing as he negotiated a fast junction and got onto the highway. Ironhide had been in the same state all night, unable to be left alone as he tried to find and speak to his sparkmate. The scout had volunteered to take a shift helping to regulate the older mech's systems later out of morbid curiosity as much as a want to assist. "The Nemesis should be in orbit tomorrow evening, though."

Hands folded in his lap out of the way of the shifting steering wheel, Sam breathed a relieved sound and rested his head back in the seat. They'd found out late last night about the communication, and it had eased a sickly knot in his stomach that had been swelling exponentially for days. As he often found himself, he directed his next question to the radio. "So how can we help you guys out?"

"Ratchet thinks, and everyone agreed, that the new bots need to get used to you as as much a part of the Base as the refectory, and none of us are small enough to sand the symbols off the minicon's armour." Though his face was hidden away in his alt form, Bumblebee couldn't help a wry smile as he thought of how keen their former enemies had become to lose their brands. It wasn't entirely unexpected, though, given how spectacularly hopeless their defeat had been. Magnus suspected that they wanted to be recognised as unaligned now that the Decepticon faction was no more before Prime himself made them Autobots. Theoretically it was something they could do themselves, but the minicons weren't able to and the older warriors had elected to be more ceremonially stripped.

"They're getting rid of the symbols already?" Mikaela asked, her voice high with disbelief. It seemed like such a rapid decision about an emblem that had been the defining part of their identities for millennia.

"No one's making them," Bumblebee cut in quickly, feeling from how Sam's weight shifted in the seat that the thought perturbed him as well. His engine whined in thought. "But they're fragging scared of Tempest, so mabe they think he'll make them if they don't do it themselves sooner rather than later."

Sam sat forward again, elbows on his thighs. "They're scared of Tempest?"

"He offlined Soundwave with an axe to the face," the mech replied flatly as if it were obvious. "The cassetticons won't go anywhere near him. Keep hiding under my pedes. I think they like me..."

Patting a hand on his guardian's dash, Sam gave a sideways smile. "Well, what's not to like, hey?"

* * *

The conversation in the Camero turned jovial for the last hour of the drive, lightness coming naturally in the wake of several dark and dangerous days. It had actually been Bumblebee's idea to bring them to the Base, in part because he needed someone to talk to who wasn't a defeated and displaced 'Con or a stressed out superior. Deep down he missed the young Seeker, but Tempest was as embroiled in the bureaucracy that the first days of peace necessitated as Ultra Magnus and Prowl were.

More than anything the former Decepticons needed reassurance that nothing would happen to them and that they were not prisoners, a full time occupation that everyone was pitching in with. In his spark, however, Bumblebee knew as well as any of them that that couldn't be guaranteed until Optimus returned. The final say was his, and he could decide that the most heinous warriors were beyond rehabilitation to peace and would act as reparation for war crimes. More than one Autobot was calling for the trial and punishment of all the Decepticons now living amongst them, particularly given the recent discovery of the heinous transgression against their own commander.

When they finally arrived at the Base, the humans finally grasped the full extent of Bumblebee's description of 'crowded'. There were bots of all shapes and sizes everywhere, many of which they had never seen before. A cluster of minicons, the youngest of the Decepticon ranks and spawned by the All Spark on this planet, were huddled around cubes of energon in the shadow of the Medbay, chittering and watching the larger bots cross the Yard between buildings and warehouses. Sideswipe and Thundercracker were leading the most senior in some kind of tour, followed by two jeeps full of NEST soldiers whom looked less than comfortable with this turn of events.

Bumeblebee rolled to a stop close to the briefing hanger, opening his doors for Sam and Mikaela to get out before transforming up into his bipedal mode. Immediately there was a flurry of activity behind him, and he found himself surrounded and being clambered upon by cassetticons. Irritation was quickly replaced by concern when he heard the larger commotion behind them which the cassettes were clearly hiding from. Signalling for the humans to wait outside, Bumblebee made his way into the hanger and stopped in the doorway.

There was no other word to cover what Skids and Mudflap were doing to Shockwave, antagonising in body language as much as voice. The Twins were skirting about his feet, keeping him from leaving and waving their weapons in vague warning against the disarmed mech at the far end of the structure.

"Don't care what you want, lugnut," Skids crowed with a sweeping gesture. "You ain't having this hanger."

Mudflap nodded and jabbed a finger towards the ground, sidestepping close to his brother to keep the gap between them closed. "Yeah, this is the Boss Bot's room, ya dig?"

Bumblebee took a further half step into the hanger but stopped with a whine when the cassettes mobbed his pedes. The silently urged him to stay back and protect them, their optics bright with the frenzied fear that being disconnected from their symbiote mech had brought. Having always recharged inside Soundwave, their first full twenty-four hours after the battle had been spent awake and uncertain, roaming all over the Base in search of a haven. The scout couldn't help but appease them, though made no move to leave the Twins and Shockwave alone.

The green mech pointed behind them to the protrusion of the Base that made up the washracks, a high-roofed structure surrounded by pipes and grates. "And you can't have that one, neither. That one keeps the sun outta our optics when we're training."

Shockwave's restraint was an audible hiss beneath the rumble of his engine, and Bumblebee had to remind himself that all the Decepticons had been stripped of ballistic weaponry. "I do not want it – the younglings need-"

Skids's optical ridges shot upwards, thumbing to the gathered Minicons on the other side of the Yard. "Them little Retro-rats?"

If Shockwave had an optical shutter he would have closed it in a prayer for patience, highly aware of the Decepticon's precarious position within the Autobot Base. They couldn't make demands, but he could not see how pushing for shelter for the most fragile of them necessitated such a hostile response. "They-"

A hand splayed across the green mech's chestplates as Skids took a step back. "Them harmless, vulnerable little things? Them ones that've taken out more squishies than we got digits? Yeah, they need a roof so they don't get cold viruses."

Mudflap shunted a loud sniff, drawing a finger beneath his right optic. "I think I'm gonna cry."

Folding his arms, Skids shared a matching look of disdain with his brother. "One-eye's so sensitive."

Shockwave resisted the urge to wring both mechs out like wet rags, his hand clenching into a fist and the powerless laser cannon on his right trembling with irritation. He had only been scouting the hanger when the pair had come in, and several minutes later he still hadn't concocted a way to leave without physical force which the Autobots had zero tolerance for at the moment. Finally, he murmured in low, tight tones, "the humans having nothing to do with this."

Nodding, Skids' voice fell into a high pitch of dubious agreement. "No, you're right, man."

Oblivious to Bumblebee, Mudflap folded his arms and took a step forward in pace with Skids. "Sure are, this time."

Skids flexed his fists so that his joints cracked, shoulders shifting into a readily aggressive posture. It was still a foreignness for him to think that he and Mudflaps would never fight like they had again, and that strangeness was breeding heavy scepticism in this peace. "Let's stick to Autobot History 101: How many of us have you fraggers taken out and torn up?"

Mudflap threw his hands up helplessly. "Honest to Primus, I had to give up countin'."

A new note of contempt slid into Skids's voice as he pointed at the larger mech. "And now that you've lost you just expect us to treat you glitches like nothing ever happened?"

Mudflap echoed the more sombre tone. "That's not cool, dude. We remember."

The battlemask had slid into place before Bumblebee had realised he'd drawn his weaponry, though his target was ambiguous. There couldn't be any physical combat on the Base at the risk of jeopardising an already precarious peace, but equally the bots had to learn self-restraint with each other on their own. He waved a calming hand over the cassetticons, silently promising to stay with them.

Instead of being reassured, however, they cried out in unison and bolted into the closest corner, Ravage arched and hissing. Tempest strode purposefully past Bumblebee without a word, red optics narrowed and wings high as he made his way around the human's speaking platform towards the gathered mechs. Retracting his weapons, Bumblebee shifted his hands onto his hips and watched with a low warble.

Shockwave took a step forward, his optic dimmed as he used his full height to loom over the smaller mechs. "Neither of you have the authority to-"

Immune to being overshadowed by larger bots, Skids pointed with a canon to Shockwave's chassis. "Do us all a favour and go reformat yourself with a pipe wrench, blinky.

Without missing a beat, Mudflap jerked his head to indicate the minicons. "And take them scraplets with ya."

Another step and the Twins blocked him again. With an engine growl, Shockwave raised his laser canon though held back the swipe. "Move - I'm going to find someone who doesn't share one microchip for a processor."

Skids' optics narrowed and his systems warmed, ready and keen for Shockwave to initiate a fight. "Shove it up your afterburner, ya half-clocked hood ornament."

Mudflap's added remark was cut off before he could speak by a cracking impact atop his head, the sound followed by the concussion bo swinging into Skids' helm with equal, significant force. Tempest stood over the stunned mechs with the weapon clenched in one fist, bringing the tip to rest on the floor. His optics slid across them both, lined with a tense weariness that had only deepened a pool for anger.

"That is –enough-," he finally spat, the hue of his optical lights flashing to a shade synonymous with death amongst the Decepticons.

The Twins didn't even begin a grovelling apology, remaining still and silent as they waited. They'd never been on the receiving end of Tempest's anger before, and were both uncertain about just how badly this could go. Though the Seeker was an Autobot, they could presently see a lot of Megatron in him, and they had always known better than to goad that particular mech.

A few seconds passed before Tempest finally shook his head with an exasperated rumble. Gritting his dentals, he swung the bo out to point at the hanger entrance. "Swindle and Wheelie are on the verge painting the grass green – go join them."

Skids and Mudflap shared a stunned look, mouths opening to speak but jogging out of the warehouse instead when the Seeker took an ominous step forward. Bumblebee was already retreating back to the teens waiting outside when they passed, optics narrowed on them to convey his own disapproval.

Alone with Shockwave, Tempest collapsed the bo and rehoused it against his wing to fill the silence. It was a conscious effort not to pinch between his optics or rub the back of his neck, both give-aways of uncertainty and weariness that Magnus had highlighted to him.

The older mech had not left him until the signal had come in from Optimus, and then Tempest's emotional state had plateaued on a more contented level. Though still anxious, the young Seeker's relief at his Sire and guardian's safety was enhanced by the feeling that all they had to do here was to maintain until they returned. Neither he nor anyone else needed to absolutely solve anything, nor was it their place to.

Whilst Skids and Mudflap were reaching the Yard and transforming to drive to the verge, Shockwave took a moment to scrutinize the pensive Seeker. He had not met Tempest until now, though had tracked his progress with interest as many of them had within the Decepticon ranks. It was a thoroughly unexpected ending to what had been a neat and promising scheme. Megatron had sired a powerful mech for the sole purpose of defeating Prime, only to be offlined along with his second by him instead. As far as he was aware, Tempest was also at peace with the killings. The human's Frankenstein story came to his processor, and he tucked the thought aside for later consideration.

When the Seeker still did not speak, he cocked his head and stated as a prompt: "The younglings require shelter."

Dragged from his reverie, Tempest gave a short nod and gestured for Shockwave to walk with him towards the hanger entrance. He did his best to ignore the casseticons cowering from him, troubled by their abject fear of him but trying to remind himself that rectifying it was low on his list of priorities. "I know, and they're going to be put into the refectory for the time being. Sam and Mikaela will be removing their brands for them and making sure that they are comfortable."

Shockwave paused at that, straightening as he regarded the shorter mech. The names were familiar from their involvement in Optimus's resurrection and subsequent destruction of the Fallen, though he couldn't see their usefulness. "The humans?"

Stopping as well, Tempest turned a little and met the waiting stare levelly and unapologetically. "We have a close alliance with the humans. You all need to become used to contact with them."

The scientist considered that before nodding fractionally, taking a step forward to underline his assent. He knew well that Tempest's existence was barely a blip in time, but his processor was beyond his years and his body grown directly beneath the legendary Matrix. Just as Optimus's had after he was transformed from Orion Pax, the Seeker's presence exuded quiet, wizened power and warranted respect.

"As you wish, Prime."

"My Sire is Prime, not me," Tempest corrected quietly, though without exasperation. More than a few bots had addressed him recently with that title, though primarily Decepticons. "I am only acting in his stead."

Shockwave could not wholly accept that given his knowledge of the Seeker's progenitors, but it had become a natural habit not to challenge superiors over such fine details of definition. He silenced his initial remark, turning his processor instead to something many of them had been wondering. "When will Optimus and Starscream be recovered enough from the fight to address us?"

Tempest's features gave nothing of the lie away, not breaking his stride. "Two more days, according to Ratchet. We are all to be patient until then."

At the cool order masked as a statement, Shockwave hummed agreement and unconsciously tried to forward the estimation on to the rest of the Decepticons. Their personal comm.s had been taken offline with their weapons, however.

Stepping into the shaft of sunlight coming into the hanger a little way from the entrance, Tempest dropped his voice with a slanted smile. There were some things that had to be said privately, and he was grateful for how easy the mech's deference was making things. "Thank you for not offlining those two."

Also keeping his voice low, Shockwave shook his head and flared his hands in a subtle, helpless gesture. Bemused irritation flowed into his words. "I fail to understand how the Autobots have not already done so."

"You'll ask yourself that at least once a day, now," Tempest assured ruefully, optical ridges arching as he flared his sensors outwards to confirm that the Twins were on the verge and painting. "They're good warriors. Loyal to a fault."

Shockwave nodded slowly, understanding the precariousness of mechs whom were invaluable in battle but frequently wished to be absent outside of a fight. Particularly Starscream, though things hadn't been the same amongst the ranks since the Seeker had defected – quickly followed by his wingmates. Life had certainly been more interesting with his antagonism around.

The corner of his processor that had been searching for what he'd presumed to be a euphemism flashed that it had finished and was unenlightened, and Shockwave nodded to indicate the direction the Twins had left in. "Painting the grass green is a euphemism for a punishment?"

Tempest couldn't help but grin, giving the slimmer mech a sidelong look to gauge his reaction. "Not a euphemism. Captain Lennox put me on to it. Cans of green paint and a field are a good incentive to behave without the need for violence."

Shockwave found that he quite simply had nothing to say to that, surprised by the literalness but impressed by the effectiveness of the tactic. Outside the hanger and looking down on Bumblebee and the waiting teens, he spoke without shifting his gaze from them or alatering his matter-of-fact tone. "These are the humans?"

"Sam and Mikaela," Tempest confirmed by way of gesturing an introduction.

When Sam did nothing more than stare openly at the looming, lens-shifting optic, Mikaela raised a slim hand and waved a little. "Hi."

The mech considered the physical gesture for a moment before simply motioning to himself. "I am Shockwave."

Mikaela nodded smartly. "Good to meet you." After a beat, she nudged Sam's elbow with her own.

Pulled out of his thoughts trying to pin the mech from one of the many battles he'd seen, Sam shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, Shockwave - I don't recognise you."

Shockwave's optical ridge lifted a little. "I am a scientist, not a grunt."

Sam blinked, uncertain as to whether he'd offended the bot. When nothing else was said for several seconds, he cleared his throat softly. "Ah, okay then."

Deciding that that was enough awkwardness and as good a Decepticon/human introduction as he could hope for, Tempest stepped forward to capture their attention. "Sam, Mikaela, could you lead the minicons into the refectory, please? I've asked Arcee to meet you there with some sanders." A pointed look to Shockwave. "I'm sure that Shockwave wouldn't mind watching over the procedures."

Mikaela twisted to look at the small Cybertronians, few any larger than an average sized dog. "It won't hurt them?" she asked, knowing that those bots were covered with armour but not completely unable to see them as infants.

Sensing her concern, Tempest smiled a little. "Not at all, but bribe them with rust sticks anyway."

He waited until the three of them had moved off before he barked the laugh he'd been holding back. Apparently Shockwave wasn't immune to the draw of rust sticks, either.

* * *

I've spent most of the journey to Earth slipping in and out of recharge, and seen nothing of Prime. The chemical bath has been providing everything my systems need and keeping up with the energon drain from Tink. If she's not recharging she's feeding, and though I know it's normal I still find myself worrying that she's harmed in some way, that I didn't shield her enough from the transmission. Being alone with my processor and these anxieties for hours on end has done little to bring them down to any reasonable level. I haven't dared to seek out the other mech since he left me.

It's something that's going to have to happen sooner or later, though, and I already know that he will not harm either of us. There's nothing left for either of us to say, but we'll have to act as if my attack on him didn't happen when we get back to Earth, and the sooner we clear the air enough to project that the better.

Tink chirps as I slowly climb out of the bath, holding her to my chassis. She quiets when I begin to walk, and is soundly back in recharge by the time I reach the bridge several minutes later. They weren't exaggerating about the walking, it seems.

Prime is in the command chair, where I expected him to be, though not in recharge. Instead he's gone into a powered down system- state around an active processor. His optics are dim but his hands are still twitching with residual energy. I make a slow path across the bridge and touch his wrist, mindful that he may startle. His optics online soundlessly and I frown when I detect the thin trace of smoke that surrounds him. "Is your coolant system working?"

He looks at Tink first, unreadable with the mask, before meeting my stare. "80% efficiency." Shifting fractionally at the fact that I've noticed, his optics brighten in a quick internal scan. "I missed some of the gel."

And now he's running hot trying to work around it as his lines have had more than enough time to spread it everywhere. Suddenly I'm not anxious. I'm not sure why, but I'm angry with him, and I seize on to that gloriously familiar feeling with both hands. "You idiot - you should have been in the bath this entire slagging time." More smoke, and my sensors point out a recent burn. "And what the frag did you do to your hand?"

I notice the open console and have worked it out by the time he's moved his hand into his lap, out of my line of sight. He shakes his head and stares fixedly at the console, dismissing me. "It's nothing. Go back to the repair bay."

Like that's going to work. The fact that I'm holding a newspark in no way makes me feeble or in need of cosseting. "You're running hot. You go get in the bath."

Prime arches a sidelong brow at me, expression dry. "Childbirth beats a temperature, Starscream," he utters with more force than before, resting a hand against the console to stand and likely walk me back down there. Before he can rise, though, something in his system finally gets the better of him and he eases back, a fist pressed into his abdomen near his ruined side. Ultimately giving up on his plan to get rid of me, he taps the screen to summon the navigation display in the centre of the console. "Besides which, we're almost back."

Between the fight at the harbour and labour my internal chronometer is fried, and I'd lost track of how long we've been sharing this paradoxically small ship for. "Yes, I've been thinking about that," I begin, leaving the remark hanging to adjust Tink and look over his console at the coordinates. Thirty-five hours, give or take an erroneous gravity well. "How do you propose we get down on to that mudball? No spacebridge, no shuttles, and unless they've radically rethought their policy on how much of a secret we are, we can't land either."

Reaching across the console, Prime brings up a screen that he was obviously working on earlier. "All true, so unless we want to wait however many weeks it takes for NASA to authorise, design, build and launch a shuttle large enough to accommodate us, it'll have to be an orbital drop."

My stare speaks greater volumes than my vocal processor ever could. He's submitting that we transform into our transitory shells and hurl ourselves through an atmosphere at sixteen thousand degrees centigrade with a sparkling who is barely dry of my umbilical fluids to impact on solid land. Primus, I actually drove him insane. "With a newspark?"

His facial plates shift at my tone, though he only taps the screen again to display a set of overlapping schematics. Ours, to be precise. "If we configure ourselves in this way, we'll be able to shield her completely with our bodies."

I study the model for a minute, turning it on every axis until I'm as grudgingly impressed as I am wary. He's managed to find an arrangement for our landing-flared armour to spread and interlock in such a way as to make a living cocoon with a small cavity in the middle. Apparently he now knows my physical dimensions as well as I know his. Like this, we'd be protoform to protoform with Tink pressed between us. Slag it, we've already merged processors – might as well just sparkmerge and have done with it.

Surely there's a limit to all of this. "Prime, are you-"

"I'm certain it's the only way," he breaks in sharply. The hand he raised to interrupt me goes to his chassis, however, clutching over his spark. "Frag…" That the utterance is audible only makes it more troubling.

"Come on," I snap, taking a step away to give him the room to stand. "Repair bay – now. You're getting in that bath, and you're staying in there until we're in orbit."

His engine makes a low sound at me, and he'd have looked intimidating if he didn't also look so exhausted and fragged. "It's the bond – nothing will help that."

And if he weren't this slagged it wouldn't be bothering him. Still, there's nothing I can do about his mood, and I'm done apologising. A line has been drawn by Prime's distancing himself from me. It's not 'forgive and forget', but it's certainly a sign that he's done talking about everything that's happened. I consider the schematic again, frowning at how close our sparks are going to be for the drop. "And you're sure this is it?"

A pause as he seems to give his processor another chance to come up with an alternative, and it's a resigned nod that he finally gives. "Positive. If possible we should also aim for the lake closest to the Base to reduce the force of the impact."

Wise, but I don't think it'll make a significant difference. Ordinarily I wouldn't care either way, wet or dry, but with Tink I want this to be as gentle as possible, even if the scale isn't wide. Stepping away, I lean my weight into the console that runs the width of the room ahead of the command chair. "With your chassis like that it's still gonna fragging hurt. Might need to rescan alt forms."

Prime sits back with a hand pressed to his side, switching the screen back to navigational. "The least of my worries." The comment is soft and wearied, and not one I feel comfortable getting involved with.

Silence stretches out between us and Tink falls completely still in recharge, her systems humming quietly. There's nothing more for either of us to say to each other at the moment, and I suspect he's close to ordering me to stay in the repair bay. To take that order from him, and with the hope that I can make him more bearable, I wave towards his marred chassis and step towards the door. "I'm going to look in the repair bay. See if there's anything I can do for the gel or the pain."

It's a weak excuse and we both know that it is only meant to get me back off the bridge, but Prime nods as if believing the fallacy. "That would be appreciated, thank you." He pauses with his optics on me, as if trying to make up his processor about my nonchalance. "A mild sedative for Tink for the drop may also be prudent. Nothing strong, but something to keep her from going into system panic."

Prudent indeed. I may be having a vat of that myself.

* * *

It had been to Ratchet's immense relief that Ironhide had settled into the disconnected state without any problems, and with bots taking it in turns to monitor and tweak his body's systems whilst his being was isolated to his spark, the medic was left with time to do the plethora of other jobs that needed doing. Brand removal was being done by multiple bots, including former Decepticons, and the repair and maintenance work on the new mechs and femmes had fallen into a slow but productive rhythm.

He'd cordoned off the semi-partitioned part of the Medbay the morning after Ironhide had gone into spark-state, in part as a place to work without any traffic should something go disastrously wrong, but largely because there was a sparkling due to be delivered. Luna's progression had been clockwork thus far, and he was satisfied to find her arriving on the day he'd expected her. He motioned the femme and her partnet to the farthest, screened-off berth without urgency, antitipcating this to be wholly routine.

Femme births were infinitely easier than mech; the rearrangement of parts that had already shifted during carriage coming naturally and almost painlessly to their systems. Mechs, by comparison, endured a more forced and improvised labour, a fact that had been playing in his processor with Starscream absent so close to his due date. Though as he watched Luna guided up onto the berth by Bluestreak's hovering hands, he was imagining Starscream. The Seeker was due in days, and nightmare scenarios of him not returning in time ran as frequently through his processor as the hopefully images of bringing their child safely into the world.

Discarding the thoughts for now with cool professionalism, Ratchet placed a hand on her abdomen to make a preliminary scan. "Good, the seal's already broken," he remarked softly, pleased. It was very likely that Luna hadn't noticed given how she touched at the slippery fluid now, though Ratchet quickly saw that her optics were watching something over his shoulder.

Arcee was lingering near the partition's edge, having crossed the Medbay quietly to wait at the screen for permission to come closer. That in itself wasn't unusual – femmes who had yet to carry often attended the births of their friends to learn from the experience, and it was something that Ratchet always encouraged so long as he was left the space he needed to work. What tightened his lines now was the human in Arcee's arm, apparently being cradled with as much dignity as possible. Swanson's expression was a mixture of interest and unease.

The scrapyard clicks escaped before he could stop them, though the expulsions helped to even his tone when he finally slipped into English. "What is she doing here?"

Luna touched his arm to turn him, smiling faintly even as she fidgeted to ease mountings pressure. Her slim frame was leant against Bluestreak, who sat on the berth behind her and pressed skilled fingers into the worst points of tension. "I wanted her to see, Ratchet. It's important to the Prime that she understand this about us. Please."

The medic looked to Bluestreak, who shrugged with an expression that conveyed that this wasn't his idea but that he was going along with it. This was Ratchet's domain, though, and his priority was safety over the advancement of human/Cybertronian understanding. _She goes the microsecond I tell her to_. There were pings of assent from all three bots, unknown to Swanson, and he finally grunted permission for the human's behalf before returning to work. Whilst he set up an energon drip, Arcee came to stand a close but respectful distance away. From her arms, Swanson watched silently with neither her clipboard nor the cool, scientific detachment that her post entailed.

It was quiet work, more taxing and uncomfortable than painful. Bluestreak watched Ratchet's hands with a sniper's focus, hands moving of their own accord as his spark fluttered with worry and his processor struggled to think of anything helpful to do or say.

"The seal opened a few minutes ago," Luna spoke suddenly, optics bright on Swanson. She arched a little when the medic's hand circled to her backstrut, feeling the new placement of parts and confirming the lines' stability. She hissed a quick cycle when he pressed on a sharply sore point before she turning it into speech. "The equivalent in a human would be the 'waters breaking', I believe." She gave Ratchet a pointed look, quirking a smile.

"Er, yes," Ratchet murmured after a beat, glancing to Swanson before fixing his optics on the task at hand. "The fluid release is due to the umbilical lines detaching, which have until now been delivering the materials for growth that Luna has been producing. Open for me, please."

Luna did so, though in a vertical divide across her swollen abdomen rather than her chassis. He worked as he spoke, touching the outermost ports where the nest of lines connected individually to the femme's systems had come away. "These lines form a conveyance nest, which also serves to protect the sparkling from its creator's parts. After delivery, I will manually remove them."

"Like an afterbirth?" Swanson asked, shifting to stand on Arcee's bent arm to see better.

Ratchet gave a short nod, only looking up to check the parent bots' expressions. Both were watching and listening, Luna as a distraction from the tightening bands of pressured pain and Bluestreak from genuine interest. His explanation gave a narrative quality to the event, a sense of safe continuity that would lead to an established conclusion in the form of a safely delivered sparkling. He didn't typically talk his patients through procedures as he was now, but he knew the merit of doing so and the reassurance it could bring. Content that everyone present was comfortable with this arrangement, he began to push apart the limp silver bundle and reveal the sparkling. It reminded him of teaching new medbots, only aloud rather than over a private comm. and far more simplified. "She's fully disengaged from your systems with a strong spark-pulse."

Swanson squinted as she picked out the small body appearing in slivers between the cables and thick fluid. The engine smell of the room was cleaner than she'd been expecting despite the exposure of the femme's mechanisms. "Is that a heartbeat?"

"Soul," Ratchet corrected, deftly removing a handful of silver cords into a waiting tray. His fingers grazed the sparkling's back and side, and Luna's systems twitched with readiness. "Our sparks are a physical manifestation of our selves. Our consciousness as separated from our systems. They're the first thing to appear at conception."

The pains abruptly spiked and Luna trembled with shuttered optics, mouth a hard line. Her hand clutched in a fist about Bluestreak's when it was offered, their fingers twitching and clenching together in a private exchange of support and love. Swanson found herself watching their mingled fingers for a long moment, so similar despite the vast differences in their species.

Ratchet adjusted a part at the top of the space made for delivery, forcing it upwards an inch so that it could retract back as it had been trying. "Just a little longer. Keep cycling, Luna – you won't purge with the drip."

Up until now the sensation of parts twisting and folding back, compressing into as small a space as possible, had been primarily uncomfortable with only momentary bursts of pain. This was now consistent, unending and concerning. "It hurts."

"I know - you're very close," Ratchet replied with a small, reassuring smile. There were no obstructions left between the sparkling and the outside world. All that needed to happen now is for the last connections to be cut off and for the small body to be pushed up and out. "Your systems are open –dilated, they just need to let her go."

Silently grateful when Arcee took them a step closer, Swanson's tone was soft. The pain she could see was very real, sharpened with anxiety and uncertainty. It was not the straining of a poorly lubricated but unfeeling engine that she had been expecting. "Are all Cybertronian births this fast?"

"Not always. This is a textbook delivery, Luna – the sparkling is close to the surface and will emerge when your systems release her." There was nothing more he could do but wait the few minutes that this last stage would take, and Ratchet fixed his gaze on the watching human. "In a mech, the sparkling would be buried beneath parts that would take hours to figure themselves out and move aside."

Swanson thought of Forge, the only other infant to be born on this planet to her knowledge, from two of their species' strongest warriors. His black and red colouring seemed fitting, though she hadn't quite pinned down why. "Is that how it was for Optimus Prime?"

Ratchet grunted a short, humourless laugh, shaking his head. "Prime was a glitch of a thing – a combination of a big mech and the Matrix, which only cluttered his chassis up more. It took seven hours just for his systems to make the space for a birth canal, whereas it's taken Luna something closer to two. Mechs aren't designed with carrying in mind, but they can do it."

Unbidden his processor leapt back to Starscream, assessing that his delivery would likely be just as straightforward as Luna's. Everything about the Seeker build was designed for efficiency and lightness, similar to femmes whom typically compacted an equal number of parts into a smaller frame. The sparkling would be high in his chassis but closer to the surface plates than it had been for Prime, making the birth that much easier.

Luna shifted again, systems whining from strain though her vocaliser was silent. Bluestreak curved against her body to look, still gripping her hand. "I can see her, Lu'. Primus, she's beautiful. She's perfect."

His sensors picking up on the soft click of disconnection, Ratchet brought his hands to the femme's chassis in preparation for guiding the sparkling out. "Deep cycle, Luna, then you're going to push as if transforming."

Her head bowed, feet sliding up on the berth to raise her knees and tense her backstrut in a hard curl. Without instruction Bluestreak placed his free hand on her shoulder, keeping her from curling entirely as the pain was urging her to. Luna's vents shunted a hard exhale before drawing in again, gathering the cool air into her systems for the moment they had been so anxiously waiting for.

Arcee unconsciously took another step forward, offering strength through sheer proximity. Her optics were on Luna, not the sparkling, marvelling at what was happening. "We're right here, Luna. Relax and listen to your systems. Let them work."

Bluestreak sensed the tremble of effort, kissing Luna's helm before pressing his cheek to her temple, drawing her close. "Now?"

The yellow femme gave a short nod, optics narrowed in concentration as her lines jerked. "Now."

Ultimately the delivery was quick, with seconds spent easing the small femme out before Ratchet placed her into the curve of Bluestreak's arm. He only needed fingertip contact to run a full scan, and retreated his hand back to grant the intimacy of the first few seconds of the new family. "She's fine - perfect."

Bluestreak was stunned, his vocaliser filled and clogged with emotion and words too shallow to possibly convey what he felt at that moment. The sparkling was a mix of dull silver and pale lavender, with large optics and a small, hesitantly chirping mouth. Luna watched with a warm and weary gaze, her internals still exposed for the umbilical lines to be cleared. The only things left to do were cleaning.

"Thank you for permitting us to watch. She's beautiful," Arcee said, her voice quiet and unobtrusive to the scene. She waited for Swanson to thank them as well before moving back along the partition and through the Medbay to leave.

Ratchet wasted no time in beginning to remove the rest of the redundant lines, which would allow Luna's chassis to close and the parts inside to reformat and recover. It was sore work, and the best time to do it was in these minutes whilst both parents were engrossed with the new life they had brought about.

The sparkling's quietness was becoming unsettling, and Bluestreak held her closer to Luna and watched the femme cup the infant's face with a slim hand. "Is she okay?" he asked, addressing Luna's instincts and Ratchet's knowledge equally.

"Flawless," Ratchet murmured, quickly followed by Luna's hum of agreement.

Shunting a relieved sigh, Bluestreak held out a finger to the sparkling and grinned when her hand bumped and finally grasped it. "Hi Fortran. I'm your Sire, and that beautiful femme right there is your Creator. We've been waiting to meet you for a long time."

* * *

Optimus became aware that something was happening in the bond when the pain stopped. The cavernous ache gave way to something closer to comfort, though it was still unlike the secure and easily overlooked feeling of nearness to his sparkmate. At first he had put it down to the pain suppressants that Starscream had administered only minutes ago, but he knew that those chemicals were only effective on his physical systems, not the intangible energy of his spark.

Alone on the bridge and with hours of time before he would need to begin making preparations for the orbital drop, Optimus shuttered his optics and powered down as much as he dared. Focussed entirely now on the ember of warmth that had appeared in some indeterminate place in his chassis, he made a longshot gamble.

:Ironhide? Is that you?:

Whilst on the same planet, feelings could be shared as easily as words when they had both opened the bond wide to share to such depths. Even without such conscious lapsing of personal barriers, there was always an underlying sense of mood that flowed quietly between them. Ironhide's voice now was disconnected, words floating up isolated from any background sentiment and weak with distance. But it was there.

:Primus, it's good to hear you. Yeah, it's me.:

Optimus mentally seized on the bond, diverting all his focus and energy into it to hold on to the precious connection. :How is this possible?"

Even without emotion being transmitted, Ironhide's tone was tellingly dry with mirth. :Ratchet set us up with a long distance line.:

His processor was tempted for a fraction of a second to work out 'how' before deciding that that wasn't important. :For how long?:

Sitting on the floor of their quarters, synched up to Bumblebee through regulating lines and a battery of external portable pumps, Ironhide tried to force strength into his words. It felt like an entirely alien way of communicating through the bond without a background sense of presence, like throwing letters down to another out of the window and not seeing if they were found. :Until you get back, if you want. It's up to you, love.:

The dark mech faltered, abruptly finding that after so long of wanting to be able to speak to Optimus he didn't know what to say. There was too much and not enough, and he was very wary of harming his sparkmate. Without any sense of feeling, he couldn't judge how the mech was behind his words. Finally, with the knowledge that they would have to have this conversation in the end, he forced himself to ask the aching question. :Are you okay? I mean-:

:I'm alright: Optimus assured quickly, compelled by the need for secrecy and to protect the older mech from his awful worries. If they didn't speak of it, nothing could slip out, but reassuring Ironhide that he was okay was going to be a tough battle. He resented Starscream anew for having to lie to his sparkmate now, though he knew well that the truth would be infinitely worse for all concerned. :Better now, I must admit.:

That was an honest answer, Ironhide conceded, if not a detailed one. There was time to talk about that later, as for now he was the Base's only contact with the Nemesis. It was impossible for him to be communicated with outside of the bond to pass along messages, but he could take information back with him when they finally closed the connection and he came back to himself. :And Screamer?:

Optimus paused at the name and everything associated with it, feeling a cool burn that Ironhide spoke it with the familiarity of a push-shove friend and on behalf of a loved comrade. Ironhide cared because Ratchet cared, and he was another mech to protect in all of this. :Fine: he replied at last with a warmth he did not feel. :He's delivered a healthy femme.:

A barked laugh came through, pleasure at some private joke. :Ratch' owes us some sparkling-sitting. Prowler's been looking after Forge whilst I'm here, though, and it might take some prying to get 'im back.:

There was a chirp from the navigation system that caused Optimus to straighten, looking over the controls. It was nothing of consequence – a gravity well that the ship was already compensating for, and he rested back in the chair again with shuttered optics. :Tempest?:

Ironhide had spent less time than he'd liked with the young Seeker after the battle, hours lost between two spells in the Medbay and preparing to make this work. He took some peace from Ultra Magnus's interest in the mech, but a part of him worried that Magnus would treat Tempest as more of a soldier and a commander than the youth that he was. Then, of course, he could be being overprotective. Instead of conveying this tangent, he simply surmised, :Better than he was. Everyone is. Megatron's in pieces, Soundwave's offline after 'Pest put your axe in his face, and the 'Cons have surrendered. The war's over.:

Optimus could only repeat the words, an affirmation and consolation. :The war's over.:

It was a massive statement; one that every Cybertronian had hungered to make a reality for millennia, and yet it seemed the least important thing to say at that moment. Ironhide's mental voice turned thick with grief, helpless and frustrated and so very, very sorry. The bond ached with guilt. :I love you. So much.:

Smiling a little behind the mask, Optimus reflected on how powerful a gesture it was that Ironhide would hold his wellbeing at the front of his thoughts over a war that had until now encompassed their lives. It was a needless hurt stemmed from a lie that he should have been able to deny outright, to assure and promise his sparkmate that he was okay because nothing really happened. But the repercussions of that admission were overwhelming and would affect so many so deeply. There was a medium ground to be found in all this, but it would take time. :I love you, and you don't have to say anything.:

Ironhide read his words as flat dismissal, a refusal to credit what had been tearing at his and all of the Autobot's sparks with the remorse and pain it deserved. He wouldn't allow his sparkmate to cheapen the transgression by shrugging it off, making it incidental, and his determination to prevent that were rooted in frustrated anger as much as love. :Don't, Optimus. Don't make out it was nothing.:

:It's not as bad as you think: Optimus broke in quickly, the words forming before he'd thought them through. There was a half-truth here, or perhaps even a whole truth from a different perspective. Starscream was right in that Tempest had been forced on him even if the inception had been as clinical and desexualised as conceivably possible, and Starscream had supplied his mind with the vivid and terrible events that had enraged the Autobots to end the war. Just as there was no smoke without fire, the Seeker couldn't have orchestrated his lies if there hadn't been nuggets of truth already in existence. Downplaying the exaggerations was all he could do, now, and he could only hope that that would be enough for everyone.

:The fluxes were embellished: he went on, composing his words with slow care. :What happened wasn't as bad as you all believed. I did not hide that much violence and hurt from you, Ironhide, and I'm alright.:

:I'll believe that when I've got you home.:

Optimus sighed a little at the comfortable, familiar tone. :I sincerely look forward to it. We'll be making an orbital drop close to the Base.: He passed on approximate coordinates.

:We'll be waiting: Ironhide promised, securing away the figures before hesitating. A part of him wanted to leave this encompassing state to tell the others, check the landing zone, and generally make sure that absolutely everything that he could do in preparation was done. But another part of him was relishing this contact too much, though he was wary that his sparkmate would find it a struggle after a time. :Do you want me to leave you?:

Just having Ironhide's voice present was taking all the ache from his spark, and he could feel parts and lines that had been harshly tensed for days relaxing despite the pain in his side. It would be selfish to keep Ironhide from the hundreds of things that needed to be done on the Base, though, however much he wanted this contact. :No, but if you need to, I'm alright.:

It was inevitable that he would feel guilty after breaking this link and isolating both their sparks until Optimus reached Earth, but Ironhide took comfort in the assurance. It was somewhere between permission and an encouragement that he would not break if Ironhide left him, and the dark mech sighed with it. He could stay a little longer before he reassured Tempest and Ratchet. They weren't selfish often, and he felt no shame in keeping his universe confined to Optimus for a time. :There's time before anything needs doing. I'm all yours.:

* * *

Prime came down to get me when we arrived above the planet, fixed at such an angle to the Base that we'd land nearby with little effort. I've taken his advice and given Tink a mild sedative to keep her in recharge for the next twenty minutes, though I ultimately left my own systems untouched despite a strong urge to drug myself into oblivion. I'm not looking forward to going back under the conditions of his sentence, though it's the best outcome I could have hoped for given that the plan of his believing the flux as fact has been blown to the Pit.

Cradling Tink firmly against my chassis, I follow Prime through to the bottom of the ship and into the loading bay. The Nemesis will stay in geosynchronous orbit whilst we step out of the hold's entrance and make the drop. If he's any sense, he'll have taken the command codes with him to control it from the surface. It's not something I'm going to bring up whilst he's securing the airlock, though, ready to open this room to space.

"Don't worry, Starscream, we'll be on the ground inside of minutes," he tells me as he checks that the equipment in here is secured to the walls. "And she'll be fine – sparklings are sturdier than they appear."

I look down at the tiny creature slumped against my cockpit, noting that some of her largest parts are equivalent in size to my smallest. "I'll take your word for it."

Once he's satisfied with the state of the place, he moves to stand directly opposite the door and waits for me to join him. We stand facing each other, glaringly aware of our differing heights and widths. His schematics must have taken hours, and I wait for him to signal us to begin the transformation.

Stepping close to me, Prime puts his hands over my forearms and bows his head towards mine, optics shuttering. A slight nod before the whines and snaps begin, his armour splitting and flexing outwards just as my own plates do. I hear as much as see the parts in his side stick and grind, unwilling to move from where they've been welded together, and I put my hand over the metal scab to protect it. When both our armour is flared he initiates the next step to close all space between us, his chassis almost touching Tink's back and his pedes on either side of my own. Her head is framed by the Matrix now laid bear, and glowing in the light of his spark. I bring my cockpit down to close the space more, bringing Tink deeper into me and Prime closer by consequence.

It takes us five minutes of shuffling to overlap and slot together our parts, all done in silence as we work by the schematics without drawing attention to what we're going back to. We are coiled protoform to protoform, caged in by a structure of our own bodies that probably couldn't be pulled apart without our help. I can feel his spark as a point of power and life, though thankfully with Tink between us there's no risk of our energies mingling and trading more than we already have. Finally we stand as a precariously balanced cocoon, the inside of which is rapidly overheating due to our combined engines. Magnetic pulses in his pedes keep us rooted and make my own itch.

"Are you ready?" Without working comm.s he has no choice but to speak aloud to me through the hot blackness that we've made.

My hands had to move during the sequence and it is only our combined forms that hold Tink up between us. Now I wish I could pull her closer into me, make her real and safe and mine. "No. But let's do it anyway."

A few seconds pass before I feel him transmit a signal to the control panel, quickly followed by a hissing and pulling gust across our external panels. Once the air has left the temperature drops dramatically, though the core of us remains hot. I'm certain I'm only imagining hearing him counting down, waiting to make sure that everything that could be sucked through the doorway has gone before he disengages the magnetic locks and lets us move. My sensors track the doorway passing us and the planet's gravity drawing us in. I feel his thrusters adjust our trajectory one way before mine adjust it the other. I hear residual moisture on our bodies burn off, and Tink chirp a long low sound between us.

* * *

Starscream didn't remember falling. It was only minutes of data missing from his processor, but after making sure that Tink was unharmed it was all he could think about. They'd missed the water by scant feet and landed in a spin that had drove Optimus's side of the cocoon impacting into the ground first. The Seeker could only assume that he'd lost consciousness immediately as there was no give in the shell, and no way he could extract himself without Optimus's co-operation.

"Prime?" Nothing, though he could hear something beginning to drip. He could only hope that it wasn't gel-contaminated energon from the larger mech that could harm Tink through contact alone. The sparkling was a dead weight against his cockpit, but in perfect condition according to his scanners. Still, the longer they were strapped together like this the harder it would be to come apart. "Prime? Optimus. Snap out of it."

There was a dull squeak as a line flexed followed by another, consciousness returning in dribs and drabs as Optimus's processor catalogued damage alongside restoring system operation. Something significant in size had dented but otherwise the armour lattice had worked. Pressed so nakedly close, he didn't need his sensors to detect Stascream's relief and that the sparkling between them was unharmed. The energy surge from the Nemesis had already begun to wear off before the drop, and now his mind felt muzzy and dim. "Starscream?"

"Who else?" the Seeker groused back, already jerking and flexing parts trying to disengage his body from the other mech's. "Get off or out of me. Whichever this is."

Not a suggestion Optimus was going to disagree with as this configuration was far from comfortable, not to mention their combined weights was only pressing his split panels harder into the ground. "I'm trying, but this is going to take longer than it did to get into," he murmured amidst a litany of creaking metal and metallic pings as parts snagged, clipped or simply snapped. A building vibration in the ground made him pause, and he hushed off Starscream's protest before it could form. "Do you feel that?"

Content to overlook this opportunity for double meaning, Starscream listened and felt in silence before humming an agreement. "The cavalry, no doubt. Not far away, so do us both a favour…"

Tired, exasperated and deeply relieved to be home, Optimus squashed down his initial retort and instead steeled himself to yank them apart. Both their bodies had been affected by the impact, and it took painful seconds of twisting and backtracking to free themselves from one another, but when the sound of engines reached them they were sprawled apart and recognizable as themselves. Exposed to sunlight and crushed against Starscream's chassis as he fought to stand, Tink let out a long, plaintive wail. It was answered by a burst of sirens that only made her cry harder.

Whilst Starscream stood to face the incoming vehicles Optimus remained on the ground, semi kneeling and bracing a hand to his ruined side. The landing had damaged his femoral strut and now sent lances of pain through his hip and into his chassis. When he saw that Ultra Magnus was part of the group, and towing a trailer, he visibly sagged in relief. He hadn't been relishing the thought of walking or trying to drive back to the Base.

Lennox jumped from Ironhide's cab before the mech had come to a stop, allowing him to start transforming on the move. The soldier jogged towards the two mechs, vaguely disbelieving that he could see Starscream and feel as relieved as he was for seeing Optimus. "Overshot by five miles, otherwise we'd have met you," he shouted, funnelling his voice through his hands as Ratchet and Magnus spun apart into bipedal modes.

Ironhide overtook him in two steps and skidded to his knees in front of Optimus, one hand covering his against his burnt side and the other cupping his helm in a brief, loving touch. "Good job," he murmured roughly, pressing a rough kiss to the mech's helm before returning to Optimus's watery optics. "Scared the slag out of me."

"Missed you too," Optimus murmured back, resting his hand about his sparkmate's wrist and trying not to move too much. The bond had exploded back into life between them, warm and fluid, and he wanted nothing more than to bask in it for a few minutes before trying to stand.

Ratchet reached Starscream with similar anxious relief, optics glowing fiercely with a myriad of scans before he'd come close enough to see the sparkling. Ironhide had told him, but he hadn't quite believed it. He didn't notice when Starscream braced a hand on his shoulder, his world contracted to the small being. Tink had stopped crying when his shadow fell across her, and now curled shy and uncertain into Starscream's cockpit.

He touched her cheek, grinning when she clicked a giggle. "Primus, she's beautiful."

"Went with Tink – hope that suits you," Starscream replied roughly, his hesitance evident more in his averted optics than his voice.

"Very much so." The medic lifted her in both hands, holding her up to his face. "I love you already, Tink."

Ultra Magnus came to stand between both united couples, mindful of Lennox at his feet. Though he was as relieved as Ironhide and Ratchet were at the bots' safe return, he was very aware that they both needed to be in the Medbay and put in a state where they could deal with the fallout of peace. The former Decepticons couldn't be stalled any longer. "Prime, it's good to see you safe. NEST have supplied a trailer to return you to the Medbay."

"Which you ain't got a choice about riding on," Ironhide added with a thin smirk, shifting to wrap his arms around the taller mech and ease him to his feet. It felt good to have his sparkmate here to be fussed over, cared for and protected after days of helplessness.

Lennox took his cue to jog to the waiting flatbed, hoisting back the reels of fabric and locks. "Got straps and everything to keep you still."

"I have no objections with using the trailer," Optimus assured with a thin, unseen smile. He allowed Ironhide to help him stand and walk him to the platform. :Where's Tempest?: he asked over the bond, his optics narrowing with concern onto his sparkmate's profile.

:Holding the fort: Ironhide replied with a shunt of hot air. :The 'Cons really listen to him, and we needed Magnus out here for towing. He's waiting on ya, though. All three of ya.:

Ratchet appeared at their sides with the fixed expression of a medic whose concern for time was roused. "Alright Prime, on the trailer. I'll need you offline to keep everything you've done to yourself from slagging you more before we get back."

"I'll be there when you wake up," Ironhide rumbled softly, releasing the slim mech and watching him sit on the edge of the trailer with bright, scrutinising optics.

Starscream lingered beside Magnus as the straps were arranged and tightened over Optimus's reclined form. He could feel Ratchet's apprehension in sedating him, saw everyone hold a living or mechanical breath as they waited for a flux to come, and shuttered his optics at the palpable relief when nothing happened. They feared for him just as he'd feared for Tink, though as he looked at her in his arms he found a myriad of feelings trumping over the guilt. Optimus was going to keep his vow of silence, and he was going to live by that sentence.

Ratchet's hand against his wing snapped his processor out of its reverie. "Can you fly back?" the medic asked gently, optics captured on Starscream with the same loving devotion that he'd shown Tink.

The Seeker flexed his wings experimentally before humming a yes, allowing Ratchet to scoop the sparkling from him. Fear suddenly leapt about his spark that Ratchet knew about the lies, and that now he had Tink in his arms he would offline him without hesitation. Ratchet gave no such impression, however, only turning to look over Lennox's work in securing Optimus's body for transit.

"Ironhide will take her with Lennox in his cab," he explained as an afterthought, looking back to the stiffly stood mech. "I'm sure Tempest will be all over you both when we get back and I'm sorting his sire out."

Another meeting that Starscream wasn't looking forward to, and he could only nod in acknowledgement of Ratchet's apt assessment. These meetings of affected parties were all hurdles that needed to be cleared before he and Optimus could settle into their arrangement of silence. So far, so good.

* * *

Optimus became aware of the medic's presence before anything else, the warm tingle of a close scan washing back and forth across his chassis and helm. He shifted, finding himself mercifully unrestrained this time and in significantly less pain. He onlined his optics to Ratchet's hovering visage. His side only ached now, though he deducted from the chronometer that that was because Ratchet had had time to carry out a thorough repair. He touched one hand to his helm as he marvelled quietly at not having an exhaustion-induced processor ache.

Ratchet bent closer, brow knitted as his hand moved to the larger mech's wrist. He didn't need to touch to enable a close neural-line scan, but the contact helped. For him at this moment, at least. "Fluxes?"

He dreaded an affirmative. It had been the medic's only reservation against forcing Optimus into recharge based purely on his foul energy after landing from the Nemesis. It wasn't surprising, though, given everything that just a cursory scan had shown up. The acid had come dangerously closed to searing open an energon tank, which had made the task of picking apart the mech's brutal cauterisation job an absolute nightmare. But the repairs were done now, and all the Prime needed to do now was recuperate enough to address the Cybertronians filling the Base.

To the medic's concern-rich question, Optimus shook his head. Starscream had removed the data and freed him from that particular torment, though there was a chance that he would have fluxes about the fake fluxes he'd been given. Nothing was ever easy, he reminded himself. "How are they?"

Ratchet gave a curt nod, stepping back and watching as Optimus sat himself up and brought his legs over the side of the berth. "Everyone's fine," he replied flatly, still scrutinizing his patient as he recited in clipped tones. "War's over. No casualties on our side. Magnus is ready and waiting to give you all the details. Tempest and Forge want to climb all over you; Ironhide too, and not for the usual reason. And believe it or not, I'm done with you, but I wanted to talk to you before you went anywhere.

Optimus knew that this had been coming and held up his hand, halting the inevitable question before it could be asked. Everyone knew, which meant that everyone would have such questions and concerns about him lingering in the backs of their processors – possibly forever. The thought perturbed him to say the least. "It's not as bad as you think."

The medic 'harrump'ed and folded his arms, shoulders shifting outwards without conscious thought to create a physical wall should Optimus try to leave. "Famous last words."

"How's Starscream?"

It was the only topic that would deflect Ratchet for now, and he sighed a little into his stance. "Being in the chemical bath for so long did a better job than I could or repairing him down to the microscopic level." He shuttered his optics for a moment, his spark contracting as he thought of the Seeker he'd left resting in their quarters five hours ago. Though Starscream was home and safe, had been checked over meticulously by his own scanners, he still felt anxious having him out of sight. A ridiculous fear, he knew, and hopefully transient. It brought evermore weight into his words now, though, as he straightened respectfully before his Prime. "Thank you, for taking such good care of them. Tink's in perfect shape. If it couldn't have been me to deliver her..."

"It was an easy birth. Fast."

Ratchet shunted a proxy laugh having expected nothing else. "Everything seems to be fast with the Seekers."

Yes, they alter their scruples at light speed to suit their own goals, Optimus thought to himself with a low, telling thrum from his engine.

Ratchet didn't miss the sound, and his voice turned pleading with a soft urgency. "Frag, Prime, stop this and talk to me. You can't suppress it. We found that out the hard way."

"It wasn't…" Optimus caught himself to consider his words. "It wasn't as bad as what Tempest saw. That flux was grossly embellished."

The medic's eyes hardened though not with anger. It was a reflection of the emotions that had driven all of the Autobots to the harbour. "Embellished or not-"

"I know," he interjected, and on a deeper level Optimus honestly did. What happened between himself and Megatron was not rape in his mind but could be reasonably construed as rape, and that was something he had failed to address with anyone thus far. It had only been when Starscream had hurled the notion at him mid-tirade as he defended his manipulations that Optimus considered that that was what the Autobots may have suspected. What Ironhide may have thought and feared. Not all of this was Starscream's fault. Most, but not all.

A sigh and Optimus softened his tone a little, sympathetic to the concern where he had been resisting it before. "I will deal with it. But not right now, and not with you. Go be with your family, Ratchet, and allow me to be with mine."

Ratchet held his gaze for several seconds of assessment before jerking his head in a nod. As he sent a ping to Ironhide and Tempest to come in from where they had been waiting outside, he motioned with one hand towards the door. "I believe you also need to being thinking about sorting out the extended family as well. 'Dysfunction' doesn't cover it."

Optimus smiled a little behind the mask, already weary but also looking forward to the task. Throughout the war he had longed for the day when he could see the Decepticons and Autobots united in peace, with neither under Megatron's rule. It would be difficult to combine the values and individuals that had created enough momentum to perpetuate the war beyond the lifespan of most civilizations, but it was a challenge he had longed to undertake.

"I'll address them," he affirmed at last, his vocals ready to say more but cut off by the Medbay door opening.

Tempest lunged into his Sire's lap in a metallic blur, keening instinctually as he tightened his arms around the broad chassis and pressed his head beneath the prow of the mask. There had been times over the last few days when he'd doubted that this would be possible, and though he'd given much thought to this reunion to keep going, he now found his processor blank of words. Optimus was also caught speechless, merely holding his son with shuttered optics.

Ratchet's snapped remark quickly onlined them again.

"What are you doing with her?"

Ironhide came to stand between the medic and the berth with an armful of sparklings. Forge was curled alongside Tink in near-recharge, both clutching a feeding line to their mouths though they neither of them drew on energon. "Racking up favours," the dark mech replied smartly, his optics narrowed and bright. "'sides, you've got a Seeker you need to talk into bonding."

Ratchet refused to break his stare though he could feel Prime and Tempest's optics fix on him. Finally, he slipped into his comm. _You remember that?_

A quirk of a grin, easy as everything felt right again in Ironhide's world. _Most of that trip I don't remember, but that stuck out. Go. Spark. Fight his demons for him 'cause it's worth it. Trust me – you'll love this family gig._

They'd know each other since before Ironhide had met Optimus and Ratchet had never seen such happiness in the dark mech. The war was over, his family was safe and he had no directive overriding that to love and heal his sparkmate. Ratchet saw the naked contentment in the set of his shoulders, the gentle scoop of his hand about the sparklings – the mech's and his own, and felt a pang of want. They could have this. There was no reason why they couldn't, and his spark had begun to ache for want of the bond.

Ratchet finally touched a hand to Ironhide's shoulder, the 'thanks' implicit. "We're both getting soft in our old age."

"Good job we're at peace now, hn?" Ironhide murmured with an arched brow, stepping in closer to Optimus and resting his free hand against the slim mech's backstrut above Tempest's fingers. "Go on – ain't nothing for you to do here right now."

Tempest withdrawing from the embrace brought about Optimus's attention from watching the medic leave, though he kept his hands on his son. There was a shadow in his frame now that would never leave, and he had aged in a way that couldn't be pinpointed or measured. The mech had been conceived by Megatron for war, and he had excelled at it.

"I'm so proud of you, Tempest," he said, cupping one hand to the mech's jaw. "You've done what I could not."

The Seeker shuttered his optics, the smile that pulled at his mouth a tangled mix of happiness and anguish. There was much to be inferred in that statement: that he'd helped end the war; had avenged his Sire for what Megatron had done; and brought about a peace with his own identity that he hadn't know was so lacking. He wrapped it all about his spark and held it there, warding off the images of Soundwave's collapsing helm, the mutilated remains of his Creator and the trepidation that bordered on cowering recently shown by many of his own kind. "Thank you, _Sire_."

"Did us all proud," Ironhide affirmed, his voice falling back into its regular timbre.

Tempest ducked his head a little and touched a hand to his elbow, optics on the floor. The diffidence was momentary, though, and he quickly motioned with both hands to the sparklings that Ironhide held. "Let me take them for a while? They're recharging, and I think you and _Sire_ need to, um…"

Ironhide didn't turn down the offer, arranging both sparklings into the mech's arms and watching with warm optics as Tempest retreated towards the rec room. Forge had nuzzled with a chirp at the comfortably familiar spark, and Tink had relaxed against the sense of a fellow Seeker. Fuelled, safe and dozing, they would need little more than something to rest against for some time.

Alone in the Medbay with one another, Optimus indulged instinct and simply pulled Ironhide against his chassis beside the berth. Their disembodied contact whilst on the Nemesis had only made his spark long more for the specialist's presence, and now the love following through the bond and the relieved peace was delirious. There was a persistent niggle, though, and it had to be clarified to relieve it. "Ratchet wants to bond with Starscream?"

A hummed affirmative as Ironhide sat himself up on the berth, taking full advantage of its width to draw Optimus down alongside him into the warm cushioning. He hadn't recharged effectively in days though he had no intention of doing so now when he felt a need to watch over his sparkmate, even if only laying quietly. "Yeah, surprised me too. Sparklings make a bot want to do stupid things on pure feeling, though."

Optimus's vents skipped a cycle in agreement, adding the summation to everything else that had been brewing in his processor regarding Starscream's recent behaviour. He hoped that Ratchet would fail to have the Seeker bond with him, but he could not worry about the disastrous potential of such a sharing of sparks when he had two armies to address and appease. Though he was home, things were far from over.

* * *

Ratchet hadn't expected to feel so charged and raw by the time he arrived at the door to their shared quarters, though it was nothing like lust that energised his lines and pulsed in his spark. It was a want, a need to make Starscream understand that he was as loved and cherished as their sparkling was, and that there was no weakness to be found in the domesticity of a family. It was something he would be proud to be a part of, and it had seemed that the only thing in the way was Starscream's anxiety of letting him in that much. Of inviting dependency.

They would both be making themselves vulnerable, yet also stronger. They could thrive with the bond, the commitment, and they could do so selfishly. There were no longer factions or battles, no higher duties of death to devote themselves to. There was family and life for their future, and he wanted to seize it with both hands.

Starscream was up when the medic came inside, sat at the desk and reading Prowl and Thundercracker's logs of the last few days. He stiffened when Ratchet laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ironhide came and took Tink. I presume he sent you here as well."

"He did," Ratched confirmed, frowning a little at the flatness in his voice. "I wanted to talk to you."

The Seeker rolled his optics back to the screen though he didn't see it. He was drawn back when Ratchet took his jaw in both hands to bring his face back to look at him. Any remark he could have snapped withered at the intensity in the other mech's features, the resolute seriousness that brightened his optics and tightened his mouth. A cold wave of fear started at the base of his spark and began to swell up. "What-"

"I love you," Ratchet murmured, the soft volume of his voice deducting nothing from the note of conviction. "And I'm not so myopic that I don't know that you love me. We're a family, and even if Tink weren't here I wouldn't leave you."

Starscream eased his head back out of the touch though didn't break optical contact, which stopped Ratchet's hands from pursuing him. Anxiety and shame fought for supremacy in his spark, a nauseating concentration that he hadn't anticipated the pain of. "You want to bond," he finally iterated, inwardly cringing at the dejectedness ringing loudly in his voice.

Ratchet bit the tip of his glossa for a moment, seeing past the dark tone that tried to drown the words in his vocaliser. "I do." When Starscream shuttered his optics as if to block him out, he realized anew just how much he needed to say this. "I want this as much as you fear it."

"You don't want me," Starscream hissed back before he could catch himself. Once the assertion was out, though, he ran with it, rising from the chair and taking a step back from the medic. "You don't understand a fraction of what I've done, of what I'm capable of. I was the Decepticon second and there is little of what I did that I regret. You do not want to permanently tie your spark to that."

A pause as Ratchet absorbed that, though it was more of a demonstration for Starscream than an actual necessity to digest what had been said. These were things that had already occurred to him, and even plagued him at the start of their relationship. Starscream was far from 'good' and largely at peace with himself because he was unrepentant. The Nursery was the only thing that he knew of from the Seeker's past that truly tormented him, and though he'd been witness to the aftermath of that massacre, that Starscream did feel guilt over those sparklings had brought him somewhere close to forgiving him for what had happened.

Honesty on both their parts was the only thing that would get them past this impasse, and Ratchet knew that he'd have to be the one to start it. He took a step forward though didn't reach out to touch, merely standing close to the Seeker watching him with mounting unease masked with a thin and unconvincing sneer.

"I'm not a gullible Autobot who thinks that you've been misjudged and are fundamentally uncorrupted and pure at your core," he began, his tone lacking in both apology and pretence. "You've been in this war from the beginning, just like I have, but you've been a warrior first where I have been a medic. You've been led by Megatron to new depths of cruelty and depravity. I am neither ignorant nor depreciating of this. I knew that you would be a challenging partner, and that there would be some fragging difficult times for us. But I'm in."

He chanced another step forward to underline his words, encouraged when Starscream didn't back away or withdraw when he linked their fingers. "I'm asking with a full awareness of what I'm asking for. Neither of us are stupid enough to believe that love conquers all, but I'll always try to meet you on some middle ground. I won't hold events over you, and I'll help you across the bridges you burn. All I'm asking is that you love me back, be a family with me, because no one else could have us after all of this."

In the back of Starscream's stunned processor, the small part that offered a continual and comforting undermining of Megatron offered that Ratchet had clearly been spending too much time listening to the Prime make speeches. The thought evaporated instantly, though, as his keen mind searched the medic's body and words for any dishonesty. He found none – only acceptance in totality. Good and bad.

It was more of a black feeling in the pit of his spark than a thought that this was a truly stupid idea, but Starscream nodded regardless and stepped into the waiting embrace.

Ratchet met him hungrily, joyously, infecting the Seeker with the same blind want for the full potential of what their sparks could be to each other. The medic found himself backed into the desk and sending various items clattering to the floor. Starscream crawled onto him as if a dam had burst, putting one knee between his thighs and leaving their chassis and mouths no space for air. Ratchet stroked and pulled at his wings, sending him higher and inviting more touches to the places on his body that Starscream had spent many hours dutifully scouting.

They'd sparkmerged so many times now that it felt familiar, plates snapping apart and prying open to expose the core of themselves to one another without pretence. The watery lights were brighter this time, however, throbbing with anticipation and readiness. It trumped over the feelings of pleasure, reduced the pursuit of overload to an incidental by-product of a more glorious act. The came together and came apart, splintering and mingling and taking from one another as much as they gave. Feelings first, and then a torrent of memory and thought poured instantaneously into one another's minds.

A stall, a lurch, but the sparkbond was already there. It dragged them on, leaving no room to flinch or hide. Ecstasy fell away to leave Starscream's defiant fear and Ratchet's cold astonishment at the fore. Their minds continued to collapse against each other, thought and feeling bleeding into one another as before but with suddenly serrated edges. They were, briefly, one mind. It was tremendous and aching, full of rage and terror and a cloying want to understand, but first to deny.

It's not true. It can't be true. You wouldn't. I would. You didn't. I did. And I'd do it again, for her, for you, for us. I know. I know. I'm so sorry. Not for yourself. Not for myself. I had to. You didn't. I had to. So scared. I am. You're a monster. I am. Megatron was worse. He was. I had to. Don't leave me. I can't. I can't. He forbade us. To punish? To protect. To protect. You, them, everyone. They can't know. I know. You shouldn't. Our choice. Prime. Doesn't matter now.

The ultimate expulsion of energy, inevitable and dazzling, was distantly pleasurable but primarily exhausting. They fell against each other and slid in a hard crash to the floor, lying tangled and gasping. Ratchet's optics were bright and wide on the ceiling, Starscream's on his profile, and both their vents sang in high, desperate whines. A sense of presence and an unfettered channel of emotion ran between them both, overwhelmed by the terrible knowledge that lay between them because of the joining that had been forbidden.

Starscream shuttered his optics and laid his helm back against the floor. Either Optimus or Ratchet were going to offline him, or at least want to, but now Ratchet couldn't. He waited for the frustrated rage to come barrelling across the bond into his spark, growing more and more anxious when the heat didn't come. Instead there was a steely detachment that increased dramatically as the seconds passed, the medic drawing him into himself even as their plates finished closing after taking a fragment of one another into their sparks.

Ratchet was the first to move, bracing a hand to the floor to push himself upright. He felt he had to see the Seeker's face. His sparkmate's. Feeling the gaze, the anticipation, Stascream onlined his optics to a dull glow and watched.

The medic clicked a false start at first, averting his optics to silently mouth a dockyard curse. Finally, he forced his gaze back to Starscream's resigned one and resolved himself to honesty. His vocaliser was raw from screaming. "Prime is right – the others can't know."

Starscream thought of Tempest, then the others followed. Ratchet's influence, he suspected.

Ratchet's hands slid into fists, the hard pressure on the delicate components and parts housed inside grounding him somehow. "I should slag you," he growled, though his anger was at himself as much as Starscream. He cycled a breath, then another, still watching the waiting optics of the other mech. He had to shutter his own in the end. "But you're already going to punish yourself for the rest of your existence. Genuinely."

The Seeker stiffened at the diagnosis, pushing himself up on his elbows with a frown. "I don't regret taking Tink out of danger. I won't ever punish myself for that."

Optics snapped open, invoking silence. "No," Ratchet said with more gentleness than either of them had expected. "You feel guilty for the pain you've caused, what you saw as the necessary evil." It was an easy distinction to miss, but the sparkbond underlined and clarified as much as it drowned and confused. He forced the ghost of a smile, meant to reassure more than anything else. "That's good enough for me. If you didn't feel like that, and if it was for anything other than Tink, it couldn't be. But this is who you are."

Starscream's optical ridges rose fractionally, disbelief registering clearly. "That's it?" he murmured, his voice a mixture of hope and scepticism that grated at his own audios. There was no room for pride in this room at the moment, though, and he swallowed it accordingly. "Do you understand what I did?"

"Yes," came the immediate reply, strong and even. "From all angles. If I hadn't felt it as well, just had you confess what you've done, I couldn't. This is still difficult. But you did this terrible thing out of love and fear, not spite. And I can't condemn you for that. Prime had every right to, but I won't."

A hesitant nod and a long pause, as if granting time for the medic to change his mind, before Starscream sat up fully. When Ratchet didn't move he laid a hand atop his, applying gentle pressure until their fingers wove together as they had done before. Drained in ways he didn't understand, he cycled a breath. "I love you."

It was the first time he'd said it and it was backed with the warm impressions of its meaning. Ratchet hadn't realized that he would have doubted the profession before now, vaguely startled by the certainty in his spark.

"More than we thought," he replied at last, and they both knew that he referred to both their feelings. They came together again, slowly and without urgency, testing and tasting the bitter and the sweet. It wasn't absolution or completion, but they would have trusted neither anyway. What lay between their sparks now was so much more.

* * *

Prime finds us all waiting in the Yard, the only place on the Base large enough to hold our entire assembly. The humans are nearby, watching with barely a degree of the appreciation this event demands. Some of the old Decepticons still have their insignia, though it is not in defiance. The symbols have been our identities, our values and our battle masks for so long that their shedding can only follow something immense. For me it was Tempest's potential. For them, it's whatever Prime says now.

The practical decisions have been made already. It was decided yesterday that the Nemesis is going to be brought down and its cloak repaired before it's overhauled into the Cybertronian Base. We may or may not leave this world. Some of us know this sphere of filth and water is a better home than the ship if Prime leads us to find a planet of our own.

There's a rumour our numbers will be divided. There're a dozen more threatening execution. Ratchet and I have a shared apprehension of what Prime will say in light of what I had him suffer, and what I had the Autobots believe him to have suffered. Just because he gave me a sentence instead of offlining me doesn't mean that he won't lash out now. We, my sparkmate and I, exchange a look from where we stand to one side of the crowd. Tink is recharging in the curve of his arm, and it suits him. The families here look right. Promising.

Prime does not need to speak louder than normal for us all to hear him. When he stops to address us and his weight settles across his pedes, the silence becomes somehow quieter. Dead air.

"A new age for the Cybertronian race has begun, and it must be begun on clear ground." He lets the statement settle into us, conveying patience and will enough to watch a star until it dies. "We will not forget those who have fallen and the misdeeds that all of us have committed and suffered, but war is a lifestyle radically different from that of peace and is not comparable to peace's laws. Actions and events that had taken place between the two factions cannot be dwelled upon now if we wish for peace to succeed, and there are too precious few of us to level the punishments that war fosters."

He looks across us all in an even sweep, but his optics are hot and knowing when they meet Ratchet and I. He knows. He sees it. We straighten, defiant. His expression doesn't change and I feel Ratchet brush my hand.

"We will not forget." His optics narrow, turning momentarily inward. "But too much remembering only embitters. To make peace is to reconcile. This is not sparklessness but necessity for our survival. We draw the line today. For all our sakes, no more lives will be lost by our own hands. As Prime, I issue a blanket pardon. The Cybertronian race will go on united or it will disappear. We are all a part of something greater than our own grievances."

The finality in Prime's words causes the humans to raise their hands, though they mercifully stop short of slapping them together. Applause is not native to us, and a response just as suited to trivial fleshie games and wordless sarcasm would be an insult here. Instead, there is a ripple of shuffling through the assembly as bots look at bots, twitching heads and flashing optics at one another.

Tempest stands in a tight pose between Prowl and Ironhide in the front row, Magnus at his back with a similar sense of presence. As Prime crosses the dozen yards of space between them, there's a shrill cheer from the back that I can only hope is from an Autobot. The inanity spreads, goaded on by Bluestreak's shouts and fleshie music abruptly beginning to blare out of all of Bumblebee's speakers. The humans slap their hands at last in a madly paced chorus, their fingertips pointed at Prime as he lays both hands on Tempest's shoulder. One Prime to another.

Then the leader of our race, by unanimous agreement, twists his helm enough to look at me. It's not a smile, nor forgiveness, but something that we can both live with that is emanating from him.

I think I see peace.

* * *

_I hope you've enjoyed this series, whether you've read on all the way from 'Equilibrium' or joined in at the beginning of this fic. Any and all feedback will be treasured. I hope that this is a satisfactory ending for what feels like my most ambitious story to date.  
_

_Thank you so much for reading. I've enjoyed putting this out there for you._

_~ Borath_


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